Page 18

FOURTEEN

WESLEY

I keep my head down as I hurry across the parking lot into the restaurant Jaxon told me about. It’s far enough out of the way that I don’t have to worry about a pap chancing upon me. The only way anyone will know I’m here is if a server or someone rats me out.

When I step inside the restaurant, I look around briefly, hoping to catch sight of Jaxon before I have to ask for assistance. Luckily, he spots me and stands up from the booth in the back, close to the emergency exit.

Smart.

As I make my way over to him, I try to formulate the words I want to say to him. There’s so much I need to clear up. But how do you fix shit from over a decade ago?

If I remember Jaxon well, he’s forgiving. He’s no pushover, but he doesn’t hold a grudge unless someone gives him a reason to.

Which I did.

I punished him for doing the right thing, and I continued to punish him, the drugs and booze muddling my mind and making me place the blame on someone who didn’t deserve it.

Hell, as early as two months ago, I was still blaming him. Being sober has me thinking clearly, but those lucid thoughts bring in the suffocating guilt for pushing away the one person who risked everything to help me. He had to know I would react badly, and he told his mom anyway to keep me safe.

A few people are sitting around eating, so I lower my gaze before any of them can do a double take and recognize me.

From the brief glances as I’m walking to the booth Jaxon is sitting in, I notice the restaurant has the standard look of any chain restaurant—wine glasses hanging from the ceiling, fake vines with plastic grapes attached to the trellises, and paintings of wine, fruit, and the countryside lining the walls.

When I get to the back area where Jaxon is, I see he ordered food for me, the plate still steaming on the other side of the booth.

I look up at him with what I hope is a grateful smile. “Still taking care of me, I see.”

His face drops, and he sits back against the booth. “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous. I figured…you wouldn’t want a server to recognize you.”

“No,” I say, realizing I missed the mark with my comment. “It’s good. Thank you. I…I appreciate it.”

Jaxon’s eyes flare, but he simply nods. He stares at me, eyes bouncing around my face, taking me in. “You look good, Wes.”

My cheeks heat, and I duck my head. It’s been a while since someone said that and meant it. Any other time, it was women who would push up on me, wanting to fuck the lead singer in a rock band. Since I left rehab, Jaxon has said it twice.

“Thank you. You do too.”

His blush is beautiful, the pink highlighting his cheekbones.

Even though it’s been fifteen years, Jaxon is still the only person I’ve ever been in love with. In a better life, one where my childhood wasn’t stolen and I wasn’t ripped away from my only safe place, we would have been together. Had a life together. Been happy…together.

An awkward silence descends on us, both of us looking around but our eyes flicking at each other every few seconds.

Fuck, why is it so hard to say the words? They flew out easily with Kas, Mitch, and Zed. Even at Lana’s grave when I thought I would choke on my despair. But for the one person that needs to hear the words, I can’t muster the ability to push my apology out.

“How are you?” I say the first thing I can think of.

His eyes widen, as if he didn’t expect me to speak, but a faint smile crosses his face. “I’m okay. Business is good.”

“Your dad enjoying retirement?”

His smile slowly fades as he shakes his head. “Not really, no. He always thought he’d have Mom around when he retired. He tries to hide it, but I know he still beats himself up for not retiring sooner. I moved back in with him so he wouldn’t feel lonely.”

I have to swallow a few times to say what I’d like to, but I manage. “She was a good woman.”

“The best.” His gaze flicks up to me. “She was really proud of you, you know? She talked about you often. Every song, every number one album, every bit of merch, she bragged and bragged about you. ”

That means a lot, and it hurts. I have so many regrets where it concerns those I left behind in Tourneville—not coming back to see Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Jaxon, not asking for forgiveness sooner, not telling my mother—Suzette—how she fucked me up before she died, not being the one to kill Perry.

So many regrets, but all I can do is try to make the ones I can right.

Starting with Jaxon.

If only I can get the fucking apology out.

Lightness fills my chest though, because Lana still thought about me.

Every time I looked at my band name, I thought of her.

When I was clear-headed enough to wonder if I was on the right track, I remembered what she said to me and knew I was.

I just wish she were still alive after I got clean so I could have thanked her to her face.

Sighing, I pick up my fork and push the chicken Alfredo around my plate. My stomach is too much of a mess for me to eat. “Listen?—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here,” Jaxon says quickly, reaching into his pocket to grab something.

When he puts it on the table and slides it over to me, my stomach plummets, and a cold flush blooms over my skin.

The urge to reach for some pills or a drink is so strong it nearly overwhelms me.

I have to close my eyes and count backward from ten, reminding myself that I’m in a safe place with a safe person, and I don’t need drugs or alcohol to push through this rough patch.

But fuck do I want it. Anything to get me past this hurt that’s cropped up seeing the key to my mother’s—fucking Suzette —house.

It’s a key like any other, nothing fancy or different about it.

But I know where it belongs—it unlocks the door to a house that held nothing but horrors for me.

I was beaten, starved, raped, and degraded within those four walls.

I still haven’t been able to wrap my head around why she would leave it to me.

She, of all people, should know how much I fucking hated being there.

My innocence and my childhood were stolen there. And she contributed to it.

“Wesley?” Jaxon calls, sounding unsure. “I’m sorry. I?—”

“Can you please stop apologizing?” I ask, opening my eyes so I can stare into his gray orbs. Just like when we were kids, they’re grounding, and I take comfort in gazing into them. “You’ve done it a few times since we sat down.”

“Because I feel like I keep fucking up.”

“You aren’t. This isn’t your fault. I just…

” I push my hoodie back so I can drag my fingers through my hair.

I cut it when I left rehab, and it’s still a shock that it ends at the base of my neck instead of tumbling down my back.

“Now would be when I’d turn to my vices to get away from this situation.

I know where this key belongs, and my memories won’t stop throwing the worst shit I’ve ever experienced at me because of it.

I’m fighting against myself to not go out and find a dealer or drop by a liquor store.

” He gasps, but pity doesn’t fill his eyes like I expect, something I’m thankful for.

“It’s just a temporary fix though. I could get drunk or high right now, but this key will still be here.

The house will still belong to me. So I’m trying to process shit.

I might have to make a quick call to my sponsor when I leave here so I can get that extra support, but I’m good. ”

“You can…you can talk to me. If you want. I can listen. I’m no professional, but I’m a good listener.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Again, that awkward silence settles in, and we look at anything other than each other.

“Are you?—”

“Have you?— ”

We both stop speaking, waiting for the other person to talk. “Go ahead,” I say.

“Are you okay being back here? It can’t be easy.”

I start to say yes, so we can change the subject, but honesty is the only way I can move forward with my life. “I’m not not okay. But I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. I’m hoping it won’t be as bad as I think it will be, but I’m trying to prepare myself that it will be.”

“What are you going to do with the house?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out at some point, I think. For now, I want to look around and see if there is anything…I don’t know, anything that will give me some closure.”

Jaxon nods like he knows what I mean. I’m not sure he does because I don’t know what I mean.

Blowing out a steadying breath, I say, “Jaxon, I want to apologize to you.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “For what?”

“In recovery, we have the twelve-step program. Do you know it?”

“Not the exact steps, but I’m aware of them.”

I dip my head. “When I was in rehab, I started working on the list of people I have to make amends with. People I’ve hurt in my past. That’s Step Eight.

Step Nine is making direct amends.” I meet his eyes, and god, his are full of such sadness that I get choked up.

“I owe you an apology for how I reacted when we were kids and you told your mom what Perry was doing to me.”

“You don’t?—”

“No, I do,” I interrupt. “I do. I carried that pain and guilt and fucking anger at you for years. Everything bad in my life was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut and not tell my secret. ”

Jaxon’s hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to me, but he doesn’t.

I don’t like touch, but I never felt that itching, averse feeling when it was Jaxon.

I can still remember his touch when he ran his fingers through my hair when I played “In the Stars” for him.

It was nice. He was gentle and didn’t expect anything from me.

After I swallow roughly, I say, “But it would have been worse if you hadn’t. I probably would have died, either being killed by Perry and his friends he wanted to pimp me out to or taking too many pills to escape the pain. I didn’t get away completely, but I was able to live a semblance of a life.”

He hisses, his eyes looking tortured now.

I hate to burden him with this, but I want him to know why this apology is necessary, why it’s so important.

He helped me. He knew it would end our friendship, and he did it anyway.

Looking at it that way—the only way it should have been—made me put aside my old heartbreak to see the situation for what it really is.

My salvation.

With despair etched on his face, he says, “I wish I had…I don’t know, done something different to protect you.” A tear streaks his cheek, and I itch to wipe it away so he’s not hurting for me. “You came over all the time, and I wasn’t aware of…what else…what else was going on.”

“I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to think I was weak and let it happen.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He implores me with his eyes to believe him.

“I know that now. But in my young mind, the drugs clouding my thoughts, I couldn’t sift through the bullshit.” I sigh as I push my plate away. “I’m sorry, Jaxon. I’m sorry for hurting you and cutting you out of my life when all you wanted to do was help me. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” he tells me earnestly. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Lightness tingles along my limbs, and my heart feels unburdened. A relieved chuckle leaves my lips. “Thank you. Man, that was difficult. I’ve made amends with pretty much everyone I hurt, but you were the one I was most worried about. I’m glad we could talk.”

“Me too.”

“You’re the reason my dad found me, did you know that?

” I ask. He shakes his head. “Suzette left with me and didn’t tell him.

We lived near Long Beach when they were married, and when she took off, we went to NoCal.

California is a big state, and Dad didn’t have much money to afford a private detective.

He looked as much as he could, but Suzette was good.

She covered her tracks well, then with Perry, it was easier.

“After the cops and doctors got me cleaned up, they somehow got in contact with him, and he was able to come get me. I got to reconnect with my father because of you. I’ll forever be in your debt for that.”

He smiles but shakes his head. “No, not my debt. I’m glad I could help. Really.”

Tightness fills my chest, but I force myself to ask the next question.

“Do you think…can we work on our friendship?” One of his eyebrows ticks up.

“It’s a lot to ask. There are no hard feelings if that’s something you’d rather not do.

But the two years we were friends were the best years of my life.

I had someone there for me when I had no one.

Even when I moved away, I never met a friend like you.

” My mind flashes briefly to Vic, but I push that thought aw ay, my urge to use strong when memories of him surface.

“I just…I want a chance to rebuild what I fucked up.”

“Wesley,” he says, sounding unimaginably sad. “I want to, I really do, but is that best for you? I’m sure I bring up bad memories, and I don’t want to jeopardize your recovery. Maybe…think about it some more?”

He’s right. I’m swarmed with good memories when it comes to him, but the persistent thoughts of betrayal and guilt are too strong to ignore. At least right now.

It’s hard to admit, but I agree with him. “Okay. I’ll be in town for a few more months, I think. I’m not real sure. Hopefully with a little more therapy and visits with my sponsor, I can work through my feelings so I can take that step.”

“No rush,” he says, his hand twitching again as if he wants to touch me. “I’ll be here if you’re ever ready. If you never are, thank you for the apology. And I wish you well in the future.”

Standing from my seat, I pull out my wallet and drop some bills on the table.

I tap the surface, wanting to tell him that I’ll be fine, that I can control how I feel about the memories, but that would be horseshit.

The swirls of emotions that bubble inside me some days are so strong they nearly paralyze me.

What’s to say his presence won’t trigger something for me, and I won’t search for the nearest location to buy some booze to numb the pain?

No, I need to speak to Jared and my therapist to see how to process everything so maybe we can get back a semblance of what we had before.

So instead of saying something rash, I say, “Take care of yourself, Jaxon.” Then I turn and walk away.