Page 28

TWENTY-ONE

JAXON

I smile down at my phone as I see a collection of photos of Wesley with a bunch of his fans.

He’s been trending today, as those fans started posting pictures, and they’ve been shared around and picked up by gossip sites.

Most of the comments have positive messages about how hot he looks and begging Lana’s Mischief to get back together.

Some trolls talk shit about his time in rehab and say terrible things, but they are immediately put in their place by true fans. It makes me happy.

Someone posted a side-by-side picture of him the night before he went to rehab and him now.

I didn’t realize how haggard he looked before he went to treatment.

His cheeks have filled in, he’s not as pale, and even though his hair is shorter now, it’s shinier and thicker, the waves having a slight curl at the ends.

He looks fucking phenomenal.

I grab a few of the nicer threads and send them to him with a text.

Me: Your fans are looking for you.

He immediately messages me back an eye roll emoji followed by an emoji that’s sticking out its tongue.

I grin and shoot him another text.

Me: You are very photogenic.

Wes: So I see. If you want, I can send you some pictures of me alone, without the fans, if you want to stare.

Me: That would be nice. Gives me something to drool over when I’m bored in court. LOL

He laugh reacts to my text, then sends me three pictures back-to-back. He’s in bed in two of the photos. The last one he’s making a weird face while he’s standing on his balcony, the sun peeking over his shoulder.

God, he’s so handsome. I can’t wrap my head around him being in love with me. Me.

I’m nothing special. Just a plain, small-town lawyer that lives in the same house he grew up in. I’m a nobody, and he’s…somebody. But I know that when he says he loves me—that he’s always loved me—he means it.

I respond with a quick text.

Me: You look ridiculous. And handsome. Your hair is growing back.

Wes: I think I’ll let it. I miss it. Even though it’s been cut short for the past six months, I haven’t gotten used to it since I had long hair since I was 18.

Me: You look good either way.

Wes: Flattery will get you emojis.

Then he proceeds to send me about eighty kissy heart emojis.

I bark a laugh and hold my phone to my chest. It’s been a bad day, but he’s making it brighter.

At the thought of what today is, a frown crosses my face as my lip trembles. It requires effort to push the tears back.

It’s my mother’s birthday. I was trying to take my mind off it when I saw the photos of Wes, and for a minute, he made me forget and chased away the sadness in my heart.

He loved Mom too, so I text him and ask if he wants to join me and Dad at her gravesite, then to have some lunch to celebrate her life. My phone rings shortly after I send off the text.

“Of course I’d love to come. Do I need to wear something special or…?”

“Nah. You know she wouldn’t have judged your clothes.” I smile slightly, even though he can’t see me. “She saw you in those tight leather pants in that music video you shot in Thailand. She said you had a cute butt.”

He groans. “Your mom looking at me in leather pants is all kinds of wrong. ”

We share a chuckle, but it doesn’t last long. “I miss her,” I whisper, that familiar lump forming in my throat.

“Me too,” he murmurs. “What time would you like me to meet you?”

“Me and Dad,” I tell him. “In an hour?” I’m still lying in bed, not having taken a shower yet. I woke up feeling a pressure on my chest because of today’s date and wasn’t ready to face the day.

For the past five years, we’ve visited Mom’s grave early in the morning and went to lunch to share memories about her. Going to see her has gotten better over the years, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. She played a big part in my and Dad’s lives, and her absence is still felt.

“I’ll be there. Love you.”

We’ve said those words to each other every day, several times a day since he came over last week. They still give me butterflies.

“I love you too. See you soon.”

After we hang up, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I stand under the hot spray for as long as I can, letting it wash away all my troubles, hurts, and pains. It doesn’t do much, but I take whatever relief I can get.

Hopping out of the shower, I quickly get dressed, and I step out of my room at the same time Dad does. He has on his usual dress shirt, slacks, and nice polished dress shoes.

His face is somber as he pats me on the shoulder. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” We start down the hallway, our feet dragging. It’s hard visiting where Mom is buried, knowing we can’t see her, touch her or hear her voice. “I invited Wesley. Is that okay?”

Dad told me he ran into Wesley there the same day Wes asked if he could visit my mom’s grave. He was pleasantly surprised, happy to see that he was doing well after his stint in rehab.

“Of course, son,” Dad answers. “So many people loved her. She would have been happy with how many still come visit her all these years later.” There are times me or Dad will go by to see her and find fresh or dying flowers neither of us put there.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the cemetery. I spot Wesley immediately, standing facing my mother’s headstone. He hears us approach and turns around, his sad eyes brightening for just a moment. He has sunflowers in his hand, and I’m touched he remembered those were her favorites.

When we get close enough, he steps into me, kissing me lightly. “You okay?” he asks, and I smile because I’m the one that usually checks on him.

“I am now.”

“Good.” He gives me one more kiss, then turns to Dad. “How are you holding up, Bob?”

Dad shrugs. “As good as can be expected. The love of my life is buried here. I don’t think I’ll be more than just drifting through my days until I die. All the days when I truly lived died with her.”

Fuck, that hurts. Knowing my dad feels empty after all this time makes my heart clench. I wish there was something I could do to make it better for him, but there’s nothing that will mend his broken heart.

Words fail me, so I squeeze his arm in what I hope is a soothing gesture. He pats it, then we all step closer to the grave. Dad places the wreath he had made for Mom beside her grave and bends to kiss the headstone. “I miss you, angel. So much. Save a space in heaven for me.”

I’m too choked up to say what I want aloud, so I just kneel in front of her headstone and lay my hand on the ground in front of me.

Wesley lays a hand on my shoulder and fills in where I can’t. “Mrs. Collins, we all miss you. Life isn’t the same without you here. Wherever you are, I hope we’re making you proud. We hope we’ll see you again someday.”

Wes doesn’t believe in god or heaven, so his last sentence was for my benefit.

We stay for a few more minutes, cleaning up around her grave and having silent conversations with her.

“Alright,” Dad says when he removes the last leaf from around her plot. “I think we’ve said all we can say. Let’s grab some lunch and toast to my Lana.”

As we walk to the car, Dad looks over at Wesley. “You’re keeping her memory alive with your band’s name. She was so thrilled you thought so highly of her.”

“I did. I told my bandmates about her when we were thinking of band names, and they were all on board with it. I love that it made her happy.” He’s quiet for a few beats. “I sent her flowers every year for her birthday.”

Dad gasps. “So it was you. We had a feeling, but you never?—”

“I didn’t want her to know. I was still conflicted about everything here and how it went down. But I never forgot about her and how she shaped who I became. She deserved more than flowers, but my mind was too clouded to do more.” He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid. Now I never will .

“Meet us at Carla’s in Chester,” I say, squeezing Wes’s hand. Chester is the next town over.

Wesley agrees, and Dad and I drive over. Silent tears slide down his face, making my own eyes well up. I blink quickly and reach over to pat my dad’s hand. “We’re going to be okay.”

He sighs. “I hope you never lose the love of your life and feel the pain I’m feeling right now. Six years she’s been gone, and it feels like yesterday.”

Anguish so profoundly washes over me that I almost drive off the road. What would my life be like without Wesley in it? When we were separated, I knew he was still out there, so it didn’t hurt as bad. If he were gone forever, I’m not sure I’d survive.

Even though he’s been out of my life longer than he’s been in it, I know he’s the one for me. When my relationship with Evan ended, I was more relieved than hurt, because I knew that he wasn’t right for me. He wasn’t the man I really loved. The thought of losing Wesley takes my breath away.

I clear my throat and look at my dad. “I’m sorry, Dad. I wish there was something I could do.”

“You’re doing it, son. By being here with me, you’re doing it.”

We pull up to the restaurant a few minutes later. Dad looks marginally better, like talking and crying has purged his soul of some of his pain.

Wesley arrives shortly after, and we all enter the restaurant.

The server recognizes him immediately, and he signs a quick autograph for her.

He asks that she not tell anyone he’s here because he’s with his family.

She nods like a bobblehead, escorting us to a private room and closing us in tight after she takes our order.

“Being a celebrity has it’s perks,” he jokes lightly.

“True indeed,” Dad says.

We sit down, and we’re silent for a few beats. All of us have so much on our minds but can’t seem to spit out the words.

Clearing his throat, Dad asks Wesley, “How are you doing with your recovery? Can’t be easy.”

I hiss at his blunt question. Dad has always been that way, but I wish he hadn’t brought it up at all. It’s like Wesley can’t go a day without people speculating on his recovery.

But Wes doesn’t seem to mind. “It’s going well. I’ve been keeping busy, seeing my sponsor. Staying away from my triggers.”

“I take it your mom’s remains and house are triggers?”

I freeze and look at Wesley’s confused face. Fuck, I forgot to ask him what he wanted me to do with them.

When he came over the night he sang the song to Lana’s Melody, we were supposed to discuss the house and Suzette’s ashes. But after the song and after he told me he loved me, all thoughts slipped from my mind.

I wish I had remembered that night. Even though we’re separated from other diners, this is a conversation we should have had at home.

Wesley pulls his lips in and looks down at the table. “You have her…ashes?”

“I do,” I say, and take his hand. He grips mine tightly. “I meant to ask you last week, but…it slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”

He gazes up at me for a few beats, then a slow smile spreads across his face “Last week. When I came over?”

“Yeah.”

“You forgot because I said I loved you?” I grin shyly and nod. “I guess that’s a good enough reason.” He exhales in a huff and sits back. “What can I do with them? With her ? I vowed to have nothing to do with her when I left this shithole. What are my options?”

I shrug. “You can throw them in the trash like you told me to.” He smirks. “There’s a reason I didn’t get rid of her remains while you were in rehab.” As delicately as I can, I say, “I wanted to make sure you were thinking clearly before I made a decision.”

He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses the back. “Thank you.” He looks at Dad. “You know people that can demolish a house, right?”

“One of my old colleagues has a son that owns a construction and demolition company. I’ll get his number for you, and you can reach out.”

“Thanks. I didn’t think I’d have anything else to do with her.

Now that she’s dead, I wanna be free.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“I need to call my sponsor and talk to him.” He peeks up at us.

“Things like this are triggering, but thankfully, my first thought is to call Jared, not grab drugs or liquor to numb the pain.”

“That’s good, son. Very proud of you.”

“Me too,” I add. I lean over and kiss him quickly. I’ll never get tired of kissing him.

The server brings our food out, and we dig in, talking about anything other than Suzette’s ashes. Though Wesley joins us in conversation, I know his mind is elsewhere. I hate that his mother is dead, and she’s still causing him trauma.

After the check is brought and the server asks for a photo with Wesley, we head out. When we step outside, Wesley walks us to my car. He has a pensive look on his face, his eyes troubled.

When we stop by the driver’s side door, Wesley gets my dad’s attention before he can round the hood.

Dad walks back over with a puzzled look but stands beside me.

Wes takes a deep breath and pushes a trembling hand into his hair.

“Can I…can I leave the remains in the house when it gets demolished? Or fucking dump her ashes in there before it gets torn down?”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. I mean, it’s better than me sending her on a one-way ticket to hell like his initial request.

Dad frowns, but he nods. “I don’t see why not. No one has to be privy to what you do in the house before it’s destroyed.”

“I’ll have someone clean her shit out and then I’ll do it. Will you two be with me when it happens? I asked my bandmates too, but it would mean a lot if all my family was there.”

“Of course, son,” Dad says and holds his hand out to Wesley, who shakes it.

I hug him close, feeling him shudder against me. “You know I’ll be there. Anything for you, Wes.”

He kisses my cheek. Then he walks away, his head down, and his shoulders hunched. Hopefully, he can get in touch with his sponsor and unburden himself of the trigger of figuring out what to do with his mom.