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TWELVE

JAXON

While I’m doomscrolling on social media before my next teleconference, I see something that makes my heart stop. The headline of the news article says, “One of the world’s largest rock bands, Lana’s Mischief, on year-long hiatus.”

Hiatus? What does that mean? Is that another word to say the label is replacing Wesley because he had to go to rehab? I’ve heard about predatory labels dropping someone without their knowledge, leaving them in the lurch.

Fuck, how can I check on him?

I pick up the phone on my desk, ready to call my dad, but my hand freezes.

Wesley made it clear that he didn’t want to hear from me anymore. The last time I saw him, I told him his mother was dead for fuck’s sake. I’m sure he’d rather not talk to me when he’s at his lowest, once again.

With a long sigh, I put the phone back in the cradle. It’s stupid. I need to learn my place and leave him alone like he told me to.

My stomach roils as I try to get through my day, pushing aside thoughts of Wesley as I conduct meeting after meeting.

By the end of the day, I’m worn out. I lean back in my desk chair and close my eyes, wanting to go home, but I still have so much to do that I know it’s impossible.

After a few more minutes of resting my eyes, I wake up my computer and get started on composing some briefings for court in the next few days. Luckily, they’re simple divorce proceedings that are uncontested, so they shouldn’t be too much strain.

My cell vibrates on my desk, dancing across its surface before I scoop it up and look at the screen. I frown when Evan’s name pops up. It’s been more than six months since I’ve heard from him. After we broke up and he bought me out of the condo we lived in, we never had anything else to discuss.

I would rather not answer, but Evan is persistent—if he wants to talk, he’ll just keep calling until I answer the phone.

“Hey, Evan,” I answer without pretense.

“Jaxon. Hello. How are things?”

“They’re fine,” I answer with a sigh. “What can I do for you?”

“I…just wanted to see how you were.”

I sigh, feeling a headache pound behind my eyes. “Why?”

He lets out a nervous chuckle. “You know…I got married recently.”

My stomach drops, but I push past it. I heard from one of our mutual friends that he was dating a receptionist at our firm—Evan and I were hired by the same firm right out of law school—and they were expecting to be married soon. I didn’t know it happened already .

“I wasn’t aware,” I say, glad my voice sounds normal. “Congratulations. What can I do for you, Evan?”

“Jaxon…I miss you. I made the wrong decision, not fighting for you.”

This happens every few months. Evan calls and asks me to come back, and I tell him no. He says he wishes me the best and won’t contact me again. Then he calls and asks me to return to Seattle. On and on it goes.

To be honest, I’m sick of it. I’m over Evan and his indecisiveness.

When I told him I was feeling the pressure a little too much at our firm, he said buck up and fake it until I made it.

He was into the fast pace, the high-profile cases, the long hours and stress.

I hated every second of it. He didn’t listen to my concerns or care when I said I didn’t want to work somewhere I was unhappy.

He told me his future partner would be a hard worker like him and put in the hours to rise to the top. I never aspired to be a bigwig or anything like that. Evan ate and breathed that shit.

I said I wanted to quit, and he said if I left the firm, we were done. So we were done.

“Evan,” I say, my tone dripping with annoyance. “I’m not going to play this game with you anymore. You’re married. You’ve made your decision. There is no more fighting for me,” I do this in air quotes, though he can’t see me. “I’ve moved on,” I lie. “So please, don’t call me anymore.”

He sighs, long and deep. “I guess this is really over, huh?”

“It’s been over for years, Evan. You just chose not to see it.”

His chuckle is self-deprecating. “Yeah, you’re right. Graduated at the top of our class and still can’t read the signs directly in front of me.”

“Focus on making your wife happy, Evan. From what I remember, she’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve a man half in and half out of a marriage.”

“You’re right.” He exhales roughly. “Fuck, you’re right.” He pauses for a beat then says, “Take care, Jaxon.”

“You too.” I hang up and toss my cell onto the desk, closing my eyes to beat back the headache.

For a while, my life seemed to be on the right track—a good job, a good place, what I thought was a good man—but it didn’t stick. Leaving Seattle and Even shook up my world. But if I’m honest, my world hasn’t been stable for a while.

Not since I was sixteen.

When I open my eyes, I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Or rather, who I’m seeing.

Wesley stands in the doorway, hands at his sides, staring at me with an expression that I can’t identify. I sit up and blink, trying to make sure he’s really here.

“Wesley?” I ask, rising from my chair and placing my palms flat on the desk. “Is…what are you doing here?”

He steps into my office, looking around at my hanging degrees and the pictures I have on the walls. He lingers on the one of me, Mom, and Dad. He gazes at it for a long moment, swallowing thickly.

After a few seconds, he turns to me, a small smile on his lips.

He looks really good. Still a little gaunt but not as haggard as he did when I visited him a few months back.

There’s more color in his cheeks, and his eyes are clear.

They flash with uncertainty but not the anger that radiated through them when I saw him in rehab.

His hair is full and thick, lustrous, but cut short, left a little shaggy on the top.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him without long hair.

“I knew you’d be a hotshot one day,” he says, stepping closer to the desk. “It suits you.”

I duck my head. “Not sure about hotshot, but thanks.” I glance back up at him, meeting his gaze. “What are you doing here?” I ask again.

“Your mom…” He clears his throat. “I’d like to visit her, if that’s okay?”

I can see the hurt in his eyes. He really did love her. That makes me happy, though sadness quickly follows on its heels. He misses her too. He probably thought about her every day after she died since his band was named for her.

“Yeah, sure. She’s over at St Marie’s on the other side of town. In lot six, on the first row. Her headstone has angels on the sides. You can’t miss it.”

He nods. “Thank you. I don’t deserve it, after what happened, but…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And…you do. You do deserve to say good-bye to her.”

His smile is faint, but it’s there. I can’t ask for more than that. “Okay. My sponsor said I should try to accept what people say, not search for bullshit in their words. You never gave me that vibe. I appreciate that.” He walks backwards, still looking at me as he goes to leave my office.

Before he turns around, I say, “My dad told me… your mom, she left you her house.”

He stops, and his shoulders curl in. “I know. I can’t think about that right now. Gotta put one foot in front of the other, and her house isn’t on my radar. Tell your dad to keep the key though, okay?”

“I have it. All his clients became mine when he retired, and your mom hired him to do her final will. Whenever you want it, let me know, yeah?”

“Okay.” He turns away this time.

Still, I can’t help but ask. “Wes?” He stops again but doesn’t face me. “Are you…are you okay? You look…you look really good.”

He lowers his head, and I think I hear a brief chuckle. “I’m not okay, and I don’t think I’ll be okay for a while. But I’m trying.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “You?”

“I’m good.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds before he leaves.

I sink into my chair, tears of happiness welling in my eyes. He’s getting better. He spoke to me, and there was no malice in his tone. All I’ve ever wanted to know was if he was doing okay. Though he said he wasn’t, I see that he’s working on himself. Sobriety looks really good on him.

Maybe one day we can talk like…maybe not friends, but like we’re friendly with each other.

God, I really want that. I would love to have Wesley back in my life, even if it’s not like before.