Page 48 of Vespertine

Nicky breathed in and out slowly as a hot flush crept up hisskin, and his cock woke from its freakishly long slumber. He’d started to wonderif he was even capable of getting hard again. But apparently, all he needed wasthe fresh image of Jazz’s beautiful hands spanning a basketball and the memoryof his blushing confession years ago.

“Don’t be mad, okay?”

Nicky slung his arm around Jazz’sshoulder and nuzzled his throat. “I’ll never be mad at you.”

But Nicky did get mad. Not because ofwhat Jazz had done, but because of what he hadn’t done. “You could have toldme! If you’d just told me, we could have had this all along!”

“I was afraid to tell you. What if yourejected me? What if you didn’t want me too?”

“So you just jerked off watching me sleep instead?Jazz, you’re ridiculous. And I fucking love you.”

They’d kissed until their jaws ached and their mouths werered and they were two seconds away from coming in their pants.

The memories used to make him so angry. Even a few days agohe’d been furious about the way Jazz had left him. But he was too tired to beangry now, and it was useless anyway, wasn’t it? As useless as drugs, as uselessas trying to hurt Jazz, as useless as trying to seduce him too. It really wastime to be done with his past. He touched the place on his chest just over theknot of pain he’d guarded.

Go in peace, turn away

A new horizon—

Ugh, no. Terrible. His newest worry fell on him, aslithering sick thought that pulled up from his gut. What if he had to be angryto write music? Or heartbroken? What if joy wasn’t something he was capable ofcreating? What if all he had on offer was pain?

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.Fuckthat. He had more to share than misery. Jazz said he had many beautifulgifts to give, and if it took the rest of his life to find them, he’d do that.

Too bad he only had two or three weeks.

“Nicky, sweetie?” Miriam’s voice called from the bottom ofthe stairs. “Come on down. It’s late and you said you shouldn’t be up there.”

Nicky stood up. He’d call Ramona and see if they couldfigure out some way to keep the assholes in L.A. off their backs for a whilelonger. If he wasn’t ready to go make a record, then he knew the other guysweren’t either. Maybe they could offer up a Greatest Hits package in time forChristmas. Or a live album. There had to be a way.

“Nicky?” Miriam’s feet sounded on the risers, brushingagainst the paper posters, and her voice held a note of fear.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry if I woke you. I was just having alook around. Getting some short-sleeved shirts from my old things.” He jerkedthe chest of drawers open to not make a lie of it and dug out five soft oldT-shirts, annoyed to realize they were all band tour shirts. He headed towardthe stairs just as she reached the top. “I don’t mind destroying these while Iwork on the dock.”

Miriam went up on her toes to hug him. She held him verytight. “I know the memories are hard to deal with.”

“Sometimes.”

“But you don’t need drugs to cope.”

Nicky’s throat tightened. “Go back to bed, Mom. I just wantto throw those old posters away.”

Chapter Nine

THENEXT MORNING, NICKY CUTthe legs off several pairs of his old jeans,which, despite having already gained a little weight since he’d gotten home,still fit loosely around the waist. He also put on one of the Liver Pills tourT-shirts and went down to breakfast. He was out of shape enough that the workon the steps was going slower than he wanted, but he’d get it finished beforetoo long. Then, if he could come up with a reason not to go back to L.A., he’dneed something else to do with his time.

Over breakfast, his mother’s eyes lingered on the redtrack-mark scars on the inside of his elbows. Touching them with hisfingertips, he said, “They should fade some over time.”

She nodded and went back to her coffee, but he’d seen theslight wobble of her lips.

After working on the steps for an hour and a half, he wentback in the house and took a phone call from Dr. Rodriguez, his addictioncounselor, and discussed how things were going with the maintenance patches andantidepressants.

“Do you plan to come home to L.A. when you’re feeling ready?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided what to do. I haven’t letmyself get too far down that path yet. I get anxious and then I think aboutusing.”

“Have you tried the meditation we’ve discussed? Or yoga?”

“No.”