12. Wesley
Wesley
W ith the bottle behind my back, I knock. After a moment, the bolt turns. My pulse thunders.
“Shit! We were just at your show. Patrick, come look who it is,” the woman calls over her shoulder, holding her robe shut with one hand and the door open with the other.
I keep my smile in place as my shoulders fall. I had a good feeling about this room. I also had a good feeling about the last ten rooms, so that’s not saying much.
A man about her same age fills the rest of the doorway. “Oh, hey.” He squints.
“Is this a prize? Oh my gosh, did we win something with our ticket?” The woman practically bounces.
“Just wanted to thank you personally for being here. It means a lot to all of us,” I lie.
Eighty-four hotel rooms didn’t sound so bad when I first looked it up, though I’m still on the upper floors where the most expensive suites are located.
Avery must be in one of them. Unless she packed her bags and left, but I refuse to think like that.
I need to make this right before she pulls away from me completely.
I take a picture with the couple—a security risk Derek will kill me for, but right now I’m not sure I care—and then head to the next room.
Just as I’m about to knock, the door behind me swings open, followed by a familiar velvet voice saying, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find you.”
“By knocking on every hotel room? At two in the morning. How has no one called security on you?” There she is, makeup still on, but she’s changed into flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top. And from the tilt of her mouth, I know she’s amused, if not impressed, by my efforts to hunt her down.
“Technically, only eleven. And you’d be surprised what this face can get me out of,” I say. I hold out the champagne as a peace offering. “You left before the party got good.”
She grabs it, our fingers brushing. “Thanks.”
The door slams in my face. I shove my hands in my pockets.
I guess this is how it’s going to be then, with her shutting me out even more swiftly than before.
I’m about to leave when the door cracks open. “It was a good concert.”
“It was great.”
“Don’t push it,” she says as she steps aside, giving me a view of her hotel suite. “You hogged the stage, and you rushed the second verse of ‘Ronnie.’ Don’t smile like that.”
“You know I love it when you’re honest with me.
” I take her silent invitation and step inside.
It’s smaller than I expected. A king-size bed takes up one room, her clothes flung across the end and overflowing out of the dresser drawers.
In the other is the stiff couch in front of an impressive TV.
“I thought you’d have a different room.”
“Anything bigger just feels empty. I don’t need that much space.” A pop reverberates through the room as she frees the cork. She doesn’t bother to find glasses and just takes a swig, her hand clenched around the bottle’s green neck.
“I’m sorry about the documentary. You’re right, I should have asked first. I thought I was doing the right thing to support you.”
“If you asked, I would have said no,” she says, handing me the bottle, my fingers brushing over her knuckles in the exchange causing me to move slower than needed to extend the zip of pleasure originating at the point of contact.
“Which would have been stupid. From a business perspective, getting more funding is smart. And adding your name to the production will boost its credibility.”
“Why do it in the first place? The tour is going to be crazy enough without a camera crew.” It’s something I’ve been curious about since the start.
With a sigh, she collapses onto the couch and takes another drink.
“After what happened with Jamie, I realized how much I’ve lost touch with myself.
I want a chance to reclaim my story. Our story.
Not the way the media tells it, but the way only we can.
It’s the same reason I need you to sign those papers when this is over. I want every aspect of my life back.”
“I know how hard it is to have so many eyes on you after something like that. Are you okay?” I ask the question I needed to hear when I was in a similar place.
No matter what you do, it seems to be the wrong choice.
There’s no regard for how raw you feel, just demands for answers.
In a lot of ways, what happened with Maddie and I was different.
It’s not like I wanted to be in that relationship in the first place, but no one knows that.
I try my best not to think of her, but after finding the lilies in the dressing room, the memory of our relationship is close to the surface.
“I’m getting there. Just right now, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.
I thought it would be easier to go back to the way I used to be.
Like I’m this broken bone that healed wrong the first time, and now I have to break all over again to get it right.
” It’s almost like she’s angrier at herself than anyone else.
“You’re off to a good start. You have Lydia in your corner.” I hesitate before adding, “You have me.”
“A start…that’s all I have.”
Spotting a desk in the corner, I walk to it and open a drawer to find hotel stationery and a pen. With them in hand, I join Avery on the couch. “What do you want? What does life as the new Avery Sloane look like?”
Her gaze narrows but she plays along. “More creative control on this tour. I don’t want to sing the old songs I’ve been told are good. I want to play the shit I like and wear the clothes I want to wear. When I get on stage, I want to feel like myself, not some done-up doll.”
I start to write. She tracks the movement, and leans forward, a hand landing firmly on my knee for balance.
I pull the notepad away which only prompts her to move closer.
Close enough to see how her makeup has collected in the faint creases under her eyes, which only makes the gold and green hues in her hazel irises pop.
“Hey!” I yelp as her hand plants dangerously further up my thigh, causing my dick to get ideas that, though I wish were true, are entirely unhelpful in this current situation.
“What are you doing?” She plucks at the corner of the writing pad as I hold it firmly to my chest.
“Making a bucket list.” And figure out exactly what I can do to help her instead of assuming. There’s also the added fact that this way, I get to know the new Avery in a way that I’ve been desperate to for a long time, instead of getting crumbs of her at a distance.
“You think a bucket list is going to help me get my shit together?”
“I don’t think it will hurt,” I say, then lower my voice. “Tell me, if you could do anything in the world, what would you do?”
“Okay. I’ll bite. I want to be able to walk around in public and not be recognized, have a normal day like a normal person.” She folds her arms over her chest and juts out her chin in challenge. “Do you think you can get me that?”
“Easy.”
She takes another drink from the bottle. “God, and you know what we never did? We never sang together.”
“I think we’re going to knock that item off pretty quickly.”
“I mean at Dave’s or that shitty bar in Caper.”
“Avery Sloane, are you asking me to sing with you at a dive bar?” My cheeks hurt from grinning.
“Yeah, I guess I am. Just get up there and sing the way we planned to. Not for money or fame. Just because we want to. For fun.” The alcohol has truly caught up with her now.
Words flying from her lips. “I want to have fun. Not just looking like I am, or saying I am until I believe it. I want to have fun and play music at the same time, like we used to.”
“Then let’s have fun, Avery. Let’s start now.” I’d start yesterday if I could.
Her expression sobers. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I have so much to figure out with Lydia, and my schedule is booked from all the obligations I had in place before everything went to shit.”
My fingers feel numb and my blood runs cold. “Do you want this? Be honest.”
“I do.”
“In eight months, when we’re on tour and you have all your shit figured out, do this with me.” I tap the list with the back of my pen. Say, yes, Ave. You need this. We need this.
“Is that what you want out of the tour? To check things off a silly little list?” She sucks in a shallow breath. “It’s your turn to be honest.”
Originally, the tour was a desperate attempt to cling to her a little longer. To hold on to her with everything I had. Prove to her that there’s something still here between us.
“It’s not a silly list if these things are important to you. By the end of this, I just want you to be happy.”
“That’s it?”
“You make it sound like you don’t think your happiness is a big deal. But to me I can’t think of anything more important.”
If I can give her that, then I can walk away. Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll realize I’m part of what can make her happy.
If not, I need to love her enough to let her go. It sounds so easy now months away, but I have a suspicion it won’t be if the time comes.
“You’re a good man, Wes.” Her features stretch as she yawns. She shifts so her body is nestled in the corner of the couch. “It’s a shame you don’t show it more often.”
“Don’t lie to me now.”
“I’d never.” Her lashes flutter as her eyelids droop.
Minutes pass but she doesn’t stir. Rising to my feet, I go to her and scoop her sleeping form in my arms. I tuck her into bed. It’s the least I can do after keeping her up, and I’d rather her not blame me for getting a backache from sleeping on the couch.
Even though I don’t want to leave, I head back to my room a few floors up. I have this whirring need to do more, to act on our agreement to make us work. Then there’s the promise I made to Garrett to take better care of myself.
Unable to sleep, I reach for my phone. I want to change, but it doesn't mean a thing if I don’t take the steps to make it happen.
“You know it’s four in the morning?” Jared’s voice is a sleepy rasp.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I’ll call later.” Shit. Once again, not thinking about the basics.
“You already woke me up.” He yawns. “What is it?”
“Could you send me the number for that therapist of yours?”
“I don’t think she’ll take you.”
My stomach plummets. Does Jared think I’m so fucked up that I need someone more specialized? “Why?”
“Conflict of interest.”
“Does that mean you talk shit about me?” It’s to be expected, but the thought stings.
“I’m not going to answer that.” I’m taking that as a yes. “But I’ll see if she can refer you to someone else.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Of course, but next time you decide to include me on your self-improvement journey, try to do it during normal business hours,” he says before hanging up.