3. Easton
EASTON
I wake to a new sunrise, feeling like roadkill and my head throbbing. A couple of years ago, I could blame my current condition on partying too hard. Nowadays, I simply attribute it to sleeping like shit. That's the thing about insomnia—she's a cold-hearted, blood-sucking bitch.
I throw the covers to the side and rise from the bed.
My bare feet slap against the cold floor as I cross the room, then pull open the curtains and let the sunlight wash over my body.
Standing naked in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, I soak in the warmth of the sun.
A few years ago, I decided to make Seattle my permanent home when we are not touring.
A place I can come back to and recharge.
There's something about Seattle and its people that relaxes the soul.
I live in a luxury loft with a sweeping view of the Seattle skyline and the bay beyond it.
From where I stand, I can see the city rising in glass and steel against the water, as ferries cut across the gray-blue surface.
But now, emptiness, mental exhaustion, and a lack of motivation are all I feel when looking out at the city.
All I can think about is escaping it all and seeing my family back in Montana.
A meow, followed by fur rubbing against my calf, causes me to look to the floor. "Hey, dude." I talk to my cat Gizmo. "Are you hungry?" He tilts his head back and meows again.
"Do you really think you should be standing in your birthday suit for anyone to gawk at?" Mallory, East of Addiction's publicist, suddenly appears.
"What the fuck, Mallory?" I turn to find her standing in the doorway of my bedroom. "You aren't allowed to enter my home whenever you wish." Stepping away from the window, I snatch a robe lying across the arm of a nearby chair and cover myself.
"Don't go and get all modest on my account. Half of the city probably got a look at your assets by now." I feel her eyes on me as I move. "And you're the one who gave me the code to get in."
"One time, due to the fact that you live in the building and offered to feed my cat for the weekend I was out of town this past Christmas. That doesn't give you permission to enter at will."
Mallory sighs as I brush by her and head for the kitchen.
I grab the cat food from the cabinet and pour some into Gizmo's dish.
I don't bother to hide my annoyance when I speak again.
"What do you deem so important that requires you to break into my apartment?
" I hear her heels tapping against the wood floor as she follows.
"I didn't break in. Besides, I knocked, but you didn't answer. I got worried," she explains, and I roll my eyes. This is the third time she's waltzed in on her own. I need to change the code. "Anyway, Music Now magazine wants to interview you."
"You mean the band," I correct her.
"No. Just you," she clarifies, and I don't bother looking at her.
"No. There are four of us in the band, not one."
"You are the face of East of Addiction. You're making my job hard to do, Easton."
I stroll over to the coffee bar, pop a pod into the machine and wait for the mug to fill with my first dose of giving a fuck.
"I've told you before. I don't do anything without my bandmates.
" I look back over my shoulder, and Mallory is standing at the kitchen island, with a look of disdain on her face.
Mallory sighs. "Fine, then why don't we go over the schedule. I've lined up a photo shoot and–"
"Not happening," I interrupt.
"You have…"
"No." I cut her off again, lift the cup to my lips, take a decent swallow, and then face her. "My flight leaves in a couple of hours."
Mallory stares, her lips tightening as they press together.
"To where?" Her arms fold across her chest.
"That is none of your business," I'm quick to tell her.
"You pay me to make everything my business."
Her statement rubs me wrong. "I pay you to manage my public life, the one the media is privy to, not my private affairs." I tamp down my lack of patience.
"We'll see what Miles has to say."
"He knows." I'm over this conversation. "And he will remain the only one with the information of my whereabouts.
Starting today, I'm on hiatus. Anything the press needs to hear, or anything you need regarding public affairs for the band, you are to go through Miles.
" Mallory goes to speak, but I'm not interested.
"We have nothing more to talk about. Now, if you don't mind, I need to shower, pack, and get my ass to the airport.
" I stroll past her and head for the front door.
I pull it open and wait for her to take the fucking hint and leave.
Not that Mallory isn't a looker. She's just not my type—personality-wise, that is.
I also don't mix business with pleasure.
It can get too messy. Mallory is good at her job, but lately, something has changed.
Not in her performance but in her behavior—mostly toward me.
"Easton." Mallory looks at me.
I sigh. "My head hurts. Just go. We'll discuss band business when I get back." I rub my temple, the headache I woke up with still lingering. Mallory steps out into the hallway, then faces me, pressing her palm to my chest.
"Easton. Perhaps I can make you feel better?"
Calmy, I remove her hand. "We've discussed this before, Mallory.
I'm not interested. Listen…I like you, most days, and you're a hard worker, but I'm never going to go there with you.
I don't fuck my employees. That shit gets messy real fuckin' fast." Mallory's face hardens with my rejection, and she begins to walk away.
"Also, the next time you invite yourself into my home without my consent—you're fired. " I slowly close the door.
A few hours later, I'm sitting comfortably in first class next to an elderly woman as we make our descent toward the airport. I stare out the window and smile, knowing I'm that much closer to my family and friends.
"You look happy," the older lady sitting beside me says, and I look at her.
Her expression is soft, of a motherly nature.
Her name is Nora, and we've shared our time on the flight talking about all the adventures she and her husband shared over the years.
She talks about him as if he's still here, yet she buried him three months ago.
What kind of love story must that have been?
Listening to her talk, I couldn't help but process what my future holds.
Can I have it all—my singing career—love—a family?
At the end of the day, I want something more in my life. I want to walk off stage and see the face of a woman who looks at me for who I am, not what I do for a living.
"I am," I tell her.
"I hope I didn't bore you with my endless chatter," Nora says.
"Not at all." I give her a smile, and she returns one of her own.
"That smile of yours melts hearts, doesn't it?" She laughs.
I rub the back of my neck. "Are you flirting with me, Nora?" I tease, and her eyes twinkle with amusement.
"Is it working?" she teases back, and I chuckle. The seatbelt lights come on, and the pilot announces our descent.
"I've thoroughly enjoyed our time together," I confess.
"As have I. I've had the pleasure of meeting many people over the years." She leans in close to me and whispers, "Even a few rockstars such as yourself."
"You know who I am?" I raise my brow.
"I have grandchildren, dear. Five granddaughters, to be exact. I've seen your face on a poster or two." She smirks.
"Why didn't you call me out when I gave you a fake name?" I ask.
"You don't get to be this old by minding other people's business besides your own, dear. You have your reasons for keeping a low profile."
I find Nora refreshing. "I appreciate your discretion." I lean back in my seat and let out a heavy sigh. "It's not always easy flying under the radar. Coming out here to see family every chance I get and being with people who treat me like a person and not a commodity keeps me grounded."
Nora pats my hand. "As my husband Orson always said, 'Family roots us.'"
Before I can stop the thought from passing over my lips, I ask, "And what did he say about love?"
"When you find love, you have everything."
I let her husband's words sink in. "Orson was a smart man."
"Yes—" she pauses, and her eyes become misty.
"He was." I feel her studying me for a moment before she says, "Be patient, child.
The right one will come along. A life well-lived is filled with many chapters.
True love sometimes takes time to find us.
And all the best love stories are written that way. "
I spend the forty-minute drive from the airport to Polson in silence.
No radio. No phone. Just my thoughts and the road.
I think about the words Nora spoke about love—about life in general.
I've thought about where my road will eventually lead me many times.
Perhaps love and family aren't in the cards for me.
I get this uneasy feeling that settles over me at the thought of living the rest of my life without experiencing that once-in-a-lifetime happiness.
Unlike my sister who, a few years ago, met and married the love of her life, Quinn, who is the Sergeant At Arms for Kings of Retribution MC.
It's crazy; I know. My sister, a doctor who came from suburbia, went and married a biker.
Like they say, opposites attract. All that matters is she is the happiest I have ever seen her and Quinn treats her like a queen.
I shake the cobwebs of tomorrow from my head and turn onto the road leading to Quinn and Emerson's home. I slow when the house comes into view, and my mood instantly lifts.