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SEVEN

JAXON

Last week, we reported major entertainment news.

Ryder, from Lana’s Mischief, real name Wesley Morgan, has been rushed to the hospital after he vomited, then collapsed on stage during a performance.

Video footage taken of the incident shows Ryder on his hands and knees, sick in front of a crowd. Some sources say he vomited blood.

He was taken to University Hospital, where doctors report he’s in stable condition.

A source close to members of Lana’s Mischief say Ryder has been having issues with drugs and alcohol for the past decade, but his usage has increased drastically over the past two years.

According to the source, he drinks in excess, sometimes more than three bottles of vodka before a show.

He is also reported to have erratic behavior while recording songs and working in the studio.

Morgan has an open case against him for assault after he attacked three fans for alleging he was on drugs. Two of the three men had broken noses, and one had a broken jaw that required surgery .

Insiders say Morgan has been checked into a rehabilitation center to ? —

I click the television off and close my eyes as I lean back in my office chair. Wesley is in trouble.

“Dammit,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face.

My mind can’t seem to shake the images of him on that stage, vomiting and crawling around like he didn’t know what else to do.

No one helped until he almost toppled off the stage.

It took his bandmates at least half a minute to spring into action, but by that time, it was too late.

The footage of him was live streamed for everyone to see.

Even though we haven’t been in contact in close to fifteen years, I still consider him my best friend. The one I always wanted to keep safe, regardless of if he wanted me to or not.

The door to my office opens, and my dad steps in, a sad smile on his face. “Hey, son. How you settling in? I know you’ve been in the building for a while, but you finally moved into my office, where you belong.”

Even though I’ve worked at this firm for a year, I just relocated from my old office down the hall into my father’s. It makes more sense, what with all his files from his old clients—my clients now—already here. But I put off changing offices because it would make my father being retired more real.

I return his smile, though I’m sure it looks anything but happy. My heart hurts, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “Since it used to be your office and I spent a lot of time here, I’d say fairly well.”

My dad retired from the law firm he started last year, and I stepped into his shoes. I might not be able to fill them as well as he does, but I’m going to try to make him proud.

That sad, haunted look enters his eyes, and I know what he’s going to say before he does. “Your mother would be proud.”

My lips tremble, but I fight back the urge to shed the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

It’s been six years since Mom died, and every day it feels as if it were just yesterday.

She lived long enough to see me enter law school, where she told me she was more than proud to see me achieve my dreams.

“I know she would, Dad,” I say in a voice thick with emotion. “I know she would.” I clear my throat and paste a phony grin on my face. “Why are you here, old man? Came back to take your office?”

He barks a thin laugh. “Fat chance of that. I just came to check on you. See if you wanted to have lunch with your dad before you get too swamped with cases to join me.”

I round the desk and throw my arms around his wide but feeble shoulders. “You never let work get in the way of spending time with us. I won’t either. You taught me well.”

That’s one thing I can say about my father. He never let his busy schedule interfere with being with me and Mom. He might have had some late nights and early mornings on occasion, but he was present. He was there. I had everything I needed growing up.

So why have I felt so hollow all these years?

Dad and I go to our favorite Thai restaurant and after the server comes to our table, we put in our order.

“How is retirement treating you?” I ask, threading my fingers together on the table.

He shakes his head with a small grin. “Good. Still can’t sleep in. I’ve been waking up at seven thirty every morning since I hung it up. Maybe one day.”

“Doubtful. You’ve had the same schedule since I was five, so it’ll be hard.”

“Yeah, it might at that.”

Dad sighs. Something is on his mind. I know him well. He’s the one that taught me how to read people. “What is it?”

His eyes flick up to mine. “You’ve heard about Wesley?” I nod, that fist-sized boulder lodged in my throat again. “Jax, his mom died this morning.”

My gaze flicks up to his. “What? How do you know?”

He blows out a long breath. “She had me listed as her next of kin, I’m not sure why. She had hepatitis C. According to her records, she tried to get in touch with Wesley when she got sick, but he refused her call. Not that I blame the kid.”

Dad told me the extent of Wesley’s abuse only about a year after he left when I confronted him with a rumor I heard around town.

Where I thought he was only beaten—which is bad enough—Dad said that was only the half of it.

The doctors found semen in his rectum, along with tears and fissures that suggested he was assaulted only the night before.

Meaning when he came over, he had just been raped by Perry.

I knew there was something different about that night, but I wouldn’t have guessed it was that bad.

And I betrayed his trust and sent him home, where he nearly beat Perry to death and ended up in another state, thousands of miles away.

But not before telling me he was done with me. We never spoke again.

Maybe I did the right thing, but my heart still doesn’t feel as if I did .

Dad reads my mind. He places his hand on one of mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what happened after he left, but you saved him from more of the abuse.”

“Don’t make me out a hero, Dad.”

“I’m not, kid. You did what you could. It was his mother’s place to protect him.

” He gives my hands two pats and withdraws as our food is placed in front of us.

“I need to travel to Los Angeles to tell Wesley about his mother. I called his manager to inform him, but he’s out of the country and can’t get back anytime soon. ”

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly. I’m not sure why. Before he left and all that shit went down, Wesley said he didn’t want me in his life anymore. I thought he was at his worst then. Now, in rehab, I’m sure he’s at rock bottom and wouldn’t want me to see him like that.

But I need to. I need to set eyes on him so I’m assured, even though he’s fighting for sobriety, that he’s safe. That he’s whole .

“I really think I should,” Dad says halfheartedly, and I know he’s going to give in. When I ask for something—within reason—he usually gives it to me. Being an only child has its perks. “But travel would be stressful on my heart.”

A chuckle bubbles up my throat. “Dad, your heart is fine. I went to the doctor’s appointment with you, remember?”

“Yeah, well. Things can change in a few days.”

I shake my head, and we eat, talking about cases he left me and new ones I’ll acquire as I settle into my role.

When I graduated law school, I worked at a major law firm in Seattle, about an hour and a half from our small town of Tourneville, but I got burned out rather quickly.

They didn’t care about the employees, just the numbers.

I came home one weekend to visit my dad and put in my two-week notice that following Monday when he offered me a job at his firm.

The law firm he built from the ground up is reputable and does a lot of business in town and in the surrounding cities.

Besides wanting a slower pace, I was running away from Seattle. A failed relationship would do that to you.

After we finish lunch, we walk slowly back to my office. I glance over at Dad, and a frown mars his face as he glances up at the sky. “What is it?” I ask.

“He’s in recovery, Jax.” I don’t need to ask who “he” is. “How will he take this news? She was a right bitch for not protecting him, but she was still his mother.”

I shrug. “I think he came to terms with her not being in his life fifteen years ago. He could have reached out at any time, but he didn’t. Maybe to him, she was already dead.”

“That’s probably the truth.” He peers over at me with serious eyes. “Don’t beat around the bush when you tell him. Be straightforward with him.” I nod, already planning to give him the news in one quick go. “If he needs anything, tell him he can call me.”

My parents got as attached to Wesley as I did, and I know it hurt Mom when he didn’t return any of her phone calls. I’m still pissed at him for making her cry with his refusal, but as I’ve aged, I’ve understood why he didn’t. As a kid, having that trust broken is irrevocable.

“I will. I swear it.”

The rehabilitation facility Wesley is in is nice. Right near the beach, overlooking beautiful yellow sand and crashing waves against the shore. If I hadn’t known what the place was, I would have thought it was a luxury spa.

Cucumber water sits on the front desk as I sign in, and gentle nursing staff keep asking if there is anything I need. The lobby is all glass and chrome, colorful paintings adorning the walls. Even the couches in the waiting room provide comfort.

Maybe with this kind of support, he can come out of this on the other side, stronger than he was before.

Ten minutes after I arrive, a woman in a sharp business suit calls my name and waves for me to follow her. “I’m Doctor Hargraves, the director of this facility.”

We walk several paces before she speaks again. “We don’t normally allow visitors so early in the recovery period, but from what his manager told me, this is of utmost importance?”

“It is. His mother is deceased. She passed away, and I’m here to inform him.”

“Ah,” she says sadly. “It will be hard news to hear, but it’s best to tell him while he is in a controlled environment, where he has the support he’ll need. Are you his next of kin?”

“No,” I say as we round a corner and walk through a set of double doors. “My father was listed as his mother’s next of kin, but he is unable to travel. I have a release that he signed, allowing me to deliver the news.” I pull the paper from my inside breast pocket and hand it to her.

“Thank you, Mr…” Her eyes scan the paper. “Collins.”

As we continue down a long hallway, I take in the surroundings.

Large windows are everywhere, a lot of natural light coming in.

A few people are sitting around at tables, either playing board games, talking, or simply looking out at the view.

The energy is subdued, calmer than I would imagine a rehab facility.

At the end of the hallway, we make a left, and she stands outside of the first door we encounter. “I need you to brace yourself. He won’t look or act as you might imagine. He is detoxing, and that will bring out the worst in people. Someone will be outside the door in case you run into issues.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I know him.”

Or I used to know him.

I push inside the room and come face-to-face with Wesley for the first time in fifteen years. But I didn’t prepare myself like the doctor just told me to, and my knees almost give out when his haunted eyes meet mine.

He looks awful, his usual bright brown eyes dull and listless.

His once lush brown hair is lanky and dull, hanging around his face like curtains.

Even though red splotches appear on his cheeks, his pale skin is prominent.

Dry, cracked lips lift in a sardonic smile, even though his eyes reflect surprise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Then again, you’re always around for my rock bottom.”

“It’s…good to see you, Wesley.”

He scoffs. “No it isn’t. You haven’t seen me in fifteen years. What? Wanted to catch a glimpse of the superstar at his lowest?”

“I’d never want that, Wes. You know me.”

“No, I don’t. And you don’t know me anymore either.” He lifts a shaky hand to push his hair behind his ears. “What do you want?”

“I have to…My dad, he’s…I…”

“Fucking spit it out,” he says loudly .

“Your mom died,” I blurt out with no grace. “I’m sorry, but she died.”

Wesley sits back in his chair, crossing his arms and dropping his chin to his chest. “Okay.”

“I can help with arrangements. Anything you need.”

A mix between a scoff and a grunt leaves his throat. “Anything I need? I want you to burn that bitch’s fucking body and toss the ashes in hell. Think you can swing that?”

I shake my head slowly. “I can arrange to have her cremated. I’ll need to?—”

“I don’t care what you do with her. I’m not paying for anything either.

She’s the reason I’m like this. Did I tell you she gave me my first pill?

” I don’t get a chance to answer before he continues.

“After her boyfriend raped me for, I don’t know, the fiftieth fucking time, she gave me pills to dull the pain. No love, no comfort.”

I gasp. I figured Wes might have been drunk or high that night, but I had no idea his own mother gave him the pills. No wonder he’s so fucking bitter toward her. I would be too. Like Dad said, she’s a right bitch for what she did to him.

He continues to spew more venom, and I’m powerless to stop him. “She made me who I am, and I fucking hate her for it. Now that she’s dead, I can move on with my fucking life.” He stands up and rubs shaky hands down his thighs.

I initially assume it’s because he’s angry until I see the tremors have wracked his entire body. “Are you okay?”

He nods and weaves past me, knocking on the door.

“Don’t worry about me anymore. You came to deliver the message, now it’s done.

We’re over, Jaxon. Go. And don’t come back.

” The door opens, and a young woman in scrubs helps Wesley exit the room with a hand hovering over his back but not touching him.

I take the seat at the table, looking at the chair Wesley just vacated. I wish…Fuck, that didn’t go anything like I thought it would. Not that I expected him to jump into my arms and tell me how much he missed me, but I expected something else.

My heart thumps heavily, sending a lance of pain through me.

A tear slides down my face, and I regret coming to deliver this news.

Dad would have handled it better. Given him some kind of comfort, talked to him like he mattered.

Not discuss the death of his mother and offer to cremate her. God, what is wrong with me?

I fucked up.

Once again, I fucked up.