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TWENTY-TWO

WESLEY

“Wesley,” Jared says with a wide smile as I sit in front of him. “Wow. You look great.”

“Thanks.” I wrap my hand around my cup of tea—I started getting the same tea as Jared our last few meetings. It’s delicious. “I’m doing great.”

“Love to hear it. How is everything? Anything I need to help you with?”

I start to say no, that I have a handle on it all, but that’s not true. Writing poetry has kept my creative mind happy, but after working on Lana’s Melody, I want to dive back into writing music.

It scares me though. When I wrote the song for Jaxon, I didn’t see it as writing anything new since I just reworked the lyrics that were already in my head.

But now, I’m itching to write again, to get some words to chords.

Already, I can see the lyrics dancing around, waiting for me to snatch them from the air to form them into songs that speak to me.

Sighing, I say, “I’m having issues with writing.”

“Writer’s block?”

“The opposite. I want to write. But my brain attaches music with my fast lifestyle, and I think it’ll make me spiral.

When I wrote lyrics in the studio or when I was at home before I went to rehab, I was usually high or drunk or about to get high or drunk.

I always had substances waiting for me when I was done.

But that’s when I did my best work, our songs charting every time.

I composed a song sober once, and that record tanked so badly, we don’t even sing it anymore.

In my mind, I need the substances to be great. ”

“Ah,” Jared says and sips his tea. “That’s tough. All I can do is offer my support. Would you like to try to write something now, while I’m around? Or you can call when you have the bug. Day or night, I’ll answer, and we can work through it together.”

Neither is a bad idea, but I’m still on edge about writing new lyrics in general. “Maybe. I was thinking of calling my bandmates. They smoke weed from time to time, but they know about me being in recovery and wouldn’t bring it around. They’re really supportive.”

“That’s a great idea. Do you feel like they make you think of using, since they’re in your band?”

I shake my head. “Nah. They kept away from the hard stuff, so I don’t even associate them with drug use.

They barely drank.” I chuckle. “Surprising for rock stars, but they never wanted anything stronger than a weed high, and Mitch said he hates the disoriented feeling of being drunk. So they’re safe from any triggers. ”

Jared nods before taking a gulp of his tea. I swallow a sip of mine as well. The warm liquid makes a track down my throat, warming me.

“Calling them or them visiting while you wrote is a great idea. Keep me in the loop?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“What else is going on? ”

My throat is dry, like it’s full of cotton, so I swallow another mouthful of tea.

“It was Lana’s birthday a few days ago. Right after I left Washington, I started sending her flowers every year.

” A chuckle inches past my dry throat. “The first time I sent her sunflowers, I had to pawn one of my dad’s saxophones to get the money for them, then I had to work my ass off to get it out of the shop before it was sold. But she had to have them that day.”

“You cared for her a great deal.”

“I did. Because she cared about me. I don’t know if I told you how we started Lana’s Mischief.

” Jared shakes his head and leans forward, his face expressing interest. “I moved with my dad following…everything that happened. I had no friends, and I didn’t want any.

I spent a lot of time in my garage, fiddling with my dad’s many instruments.

One day, I wanted to play out in the garage, but it was really fucking stuffy.

So I opened the door, pulled up a stool, and plugged in my dad’s guitar and amp.

I didn’t turn it up too loud, since the neighbors would have bitched about it.

“Mitch, Kas, and Vic were already friends, and they were hanging out that day. They walked past my house when I was playing but didn’t immediately stop.

” I had seen the three of them in school, always together, their long hair obscuring their faces, and their hands always filthy from drawing ink tattoos on themselves.

“After a few minutes though, they turned around and came back. ‘Hey, man,’ Vic said when he walked up the driveway. ‘Sounds good. What else you play?’” I chuckle when I think about our first interaction.

“I told him all the instruments I played and that I was a good singer. He said he was too and asked to play the guitar. I handed it to him, and he played an old Aerosmith song. He sounded amazing. Not as much range as I had, but he was good. Mitch and Kas drifted over and told me what instruments they played. We shot the shit for about an hour, talking about music and lyrics and being famous. I asked if they wanted to come over and rock out with me sometime, and the rest was history. When I suggested the name for the band after Lana, they agreed, saying they loved it.”

I still can’t believe I put myself out there like that. After leaving Jaxon, I didn’t think I’d get close to anyone again. But talking music was always easy for me. It didn’t take long for us to become friends and for me to fall deeper into my addiction.

“That’s a great story,” Jared says. “Sounds like it was meant to be. I’m glad you found friends.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, wishing I could go back to simpler times. We were young and felt like we had the world at our feet. Real life really smacked me in the face.

We chat for a few more minutes about what else is going on, but for some reason I don’t tell him about my relationship with Jaxon.

I’m not sure why, but I’m not ready to hear him tell me not to get into a relationship.

Jared once mentioned that he waited close to five years after he stopped drinking to start dating his now-wife to ensure he was truly not going to use again.

It’s been less than a year for me. Hell, less than six months.

But I’m ready. Jaxon is safe . I can be with him and not want to touch drugs or alcohol.

Jaxon makes the bad thoughts I’ve always tried to forget go away. I don’t think about my abuse, how my mom treated me, all the shit I put in my body. I think about him and our future, about making him happy. Never about substances I used to indulge in.

Just thinking about Jaxon makes me happy. The feel of his hands on me, the taste of his lips .

Since I’ve gotten out of rehab, sex hasn’t been on my mind.

It’s hard enough trying to get through the day without using, but adding the stress of sexual performance was nearly impossible.

But kissing and touching Jaxon has me wondering if I can make him come apart because of my hands. My mouth. My cock.

I have to adjust myself as I’m driving home, the thought of him moaning for me makes my dick painfully hard in my pants. The heaviness of my balls has my mind going down the rabbit hole of all the ways I can have Jaxon coming undone for me.

Since he’s on my mind, I call him to see what he’s up to.

He answers on the third ring, speaking quickly. “Hey, I’m due in court in five minutes. You okay?”

“I’m good. I was wondering if you wanted to do something this weekend.”

“Like tomorrow?”

Shit, I didn’t realize it was Thursday. Well, since I already asked. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Sure. I usually use Fridays as my admin day, but I’m the boss. I’ll have Mrs. Judy rearrange my schedule. What time should we meet?”

“Noon.” I’m not sure what we’re doing, but I’ll arrange it so the time is accurate.

I probably should have thought this through, but sometimes, Jaxon fuzzes my mind in a good way. And wanting him alone so I can touch him and kiss him and taste him made me ask before I had any concrete plans for us.

Sure, I could do all that at my house, but Jaxon deserves to be wined and dined. He deserves the world, so for a weekend, I’ll give him that. I have more than enough money to spoil him .

I can hear the smile in his tone, even though he’s in a rush. “Noon, it is. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you back,” I say, the words causing a cascade of butterflies to dance in my belly.

I never thought I’d love anyone the way I love Jaxon. He’s my soulmate, the only person in the world I want to spend my life with.

Now I have to get home so I can plan a date he’ll never forget.