This Side of Beautiful

Chapter Forty-Three

janae

Austin

October 4

I’d never been so relieved to end a show. As the final note faded, I bowed and then swept my hands toward The Hollow Bones, introducing the members one by one and saving Landon for last to thunderous applause. He’d clearly been elevated to leader status whether he claimed it or not. He blushed, waved, and guided me off the stage with his hand possessively on my lower back. I had to pretend with the broadest smile that his hand didn’t burn where his palm lingered. Being this close to him had me damn near swooning. He’d already had a quiet confidence about his talent, but during sound check and on the stage, he’d come more and more out of his shell. Meanwhile, I’d sounded off key and played it off by saying that I was a little rusty at singing live. But it was the meds, and I hated it.

Being in front of a live audience always infused me with vibrant reds and pinks, and now the colors were subdued pastel blues and greens. Trying to stay hydrated and avoid cotton mouth kept me running to the bathroom every hour, disrupting my rehearsals and focus in the studio. I woke up at the crack of dawn to jot down lyrics as my body geared up for more prescription drugs and less creativity. I was finally working on my fourth album, and I wanted it to be my best. But how could it be my best when I wasn’t the best representation of myself, the woman who’d attracted a butterfly one summer morning?

This was my first time performing at an outdoor show with such a large crowd, and in my opinion, I’d sucked. Austin City Limits was a three-day festival that invited more than one hundred acts playing various genres of music, and we’d been honored with high billing. We took photos and signed autographs behind the stage and then were ushered toward the SUV that would take us to 6th Street, a popular touristy area in Austin reminiscent of Bourbon Street without the strip clubs where we would make an appearance at a bar. I clowned and joked with the guys while Landon watched as he’d always done in the past. And, like in the past, knowing he watched me thrilled me.

After being at the bar for an hour, I leaned closer to Cedrick, who stood behind me. I couldn’t take much more of hanging around Landon and not being able to touch him. “I’ll get the car to bring me home. I’m tired.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah… you know.” I glanced in Landon’s direction where he played guitar on stage while Charles and Brian hyped him up.

Cedrick’s jaw clenched. “I do.”

I hugged him. “Y’all smashed, as always. Until next time. Tell the guys I’m sorry I had to run.”

His eyes were sad. “Yeah. Take care, Janae.” He signaled to security to walk me through the crowds. Once I reached the car through screaming fans, grateful for the tinted windows, I bunched my legs up to my knees and buried my face there.

A few minutes passed, and we hadn’t moved. I peeked around me. “Any reason we haven’t gone anywhere?”

The driver said, “I was instructed not to leave yet.”

“I’m tired. I don’t live far from here. You can be back within thirty minutes, forty tops.”

“I’ve been given orders.”

“From who? I’m the boss, too.”

The driver shook his head without turning around.

I pulled out a phone and thought of catching an Uber. But in Austin, during this festival, I would get mobbed. “Ugh.”

I flopped my head back as the door opened. I glanced to my right, and Landon eased in the car. “What are you doing?”

“Just drive.” Landon looked at me. “Where?”

“This was your idea.”

“Your house?”

I folded my arms. “No. I have someone waiting for me.” It was Frankie, who’d traveled with me more for support than for my makeup and hair. But he didn’t need to know that.

He frowned. “You moved on already?”

“Haven’t you?”

“No. I told you that I would never get over you.” His hazel eyes blazed as he instructed the driver, “My hotel.”

Instant desire slicked my panties. “That’s not a good idea.”

Landon smirked. “Because of your man or because you’re scared?”

I jerked my head back. “Since when you get so cocky?”

“A lot has changed.”

“Tell me.”

Landon glanced at the driver and then at me. “We need privacy. My suite has a separate sitting area.” He smiled. “It’s your fault we can’t walk around or sit in a lounge and talk like normal people.”

“I’m not going to your hotel. It’s too much.”

“Is that why your performance was off tonight?”

“Fuck you. I don’t need you to tell me I sucked.” I bristled. Of course he would have noticed.

He sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Carlos, I need the car.”

“Got ya.” The driver pulled to the side of a not-so-crowded street and smiled at us as he took the money, got out, and walked away.

Landon took off his hat. “Move to the front from within the car, and I’ll get out.”

I maneuvered myself to the front passenger seat as he jumped in the front, unrecognized.

He started talking while he drove. “I wasn’t trying to insult you, and I don’t think you were using. You didn’t suck at all. The audience loved us, so you did your job. I’m asking what’s wrong.”

The concern in his tone broke my resolve. “It’s the meds. I’ve been on them consistently since Austin. It makes my mouth dry, and no matter how much water I drink, it affects the quality of my voice. Then my energy is flat. Good thing is that my mood has evened off, and I’ve been sleeping more.”

Landon smiled. “You just cursed me… You sure your mood is balanced?”

I punched him. “Where are we headed?”

“The nearest place we can park and talk.” He looked at the cell in my hand. “Need to call him?”

“No,” I answered. I wasn’t letting Landon off the hook yet. I’d seen The Hollow Bones’ IG posts, and he was definitely hanging out more, even at the bar. He hadn’t resisted when a couple of women who ran the club asked him to come on stage and play. Landon was all man, and though he may not be over me, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been sexual with another woman or women.

“What can you do about the meds affecting you?”

I shrugged. “Talk to my psychiatrist. I’m not going to jeopardize my mental health again. Just need to tweak more. I need to be hopeful, because I have to sing.”

“You will.” He slid the car into a grassy area and opened the roof. “Put your seat back.”

We both leaned as far back as the seats could go and stared at the twinkling sky. The smile on his face as he gazed upward brought tears to my eyes. This was what I loved about Landon. All of his layers. All of his sides. All of him.

In the quiet, I started to speak. “I talked with my mother and told her pretty much everything I ever wanted to say. It wasn’t pretty, but I said it. She didn’t really respond because I doubt she could refute anything. Hard to accept that the person who brought you into the world doesn’t love you. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t like me. We haven’t spoken since I confronted her. At least my brother and I are cool again, and it’s been fun getting to know him as an adult and be an aunt to his children.” I tapped Landon’s thigh. “He’s with Frankie now.”

He turned his head and looked at me. “Told Cedrick he lost a good one. Just like I did.”

“Damn it. Stop kissing my ass.” I tapped his nose.

Landon’s eyes suddenly watered, though he chuckled. “Guess what?”

I didn’t answer, sensing that whatever he’d say next would be monumental.

“Umm… besides my parents…” He took a breath. “Besides my parents, no one knows I was locked up in a psych ward. They used their influence and money to keep my hospitalization a secret.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. “Oh, Landon.”

“My talk with my parents wasn’t a talk at all. I walked inside my house fresh off the plane from Austin, full of heartbreak, and my father was hitting my mother. I smashed my guitar over his back and beat him until my mother intervened. I didn’t know if she was protecting me or him. I lost it out. I started believing I had no one. No you, no Cedrick, no Hollow Bones, and no mother. From what I can remember and what I was told, I wanted to die. Not that I planned to kill myself. It just hurt that bad. Supposedly, I lost touch with reality, and I had to be sedated to get in the ambulance. I woke up with restraints because I was on suicide watch.” He averted his gaze. “I was diagnosed with autism and anxiety and had a brief psychotic episode.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there for you.” I picked up his hand, which rested on the console. “Life jacket, remember?”

“I wanted to. God knows how I fought not to call you. I was embarrassed about what happened between my parents and that I couldn’t handle it. Then I got locked up like I was an animal.” His jaw tightened.

“Now what?”

“I vowed that I wouldn’t let myself be defined by another episode or label. I’ve never been certain if I fit on the autism spectrum, but I do know I’m neurodivergent. I process the world differently, and I’m learning to embrace that just like you’re finding your way with bipolar. My mother sold our family home and lives with me now. We’ve been enjoying each other, and we talk about music for hours. I haven’t seen my father since the hospital, and I’ve made peace with that, too.”

I kissed the back of his hand to comfort him and just as quickly wiped it. “Sorry, force of habit.”

Landon’s hand swept up my nape, and his gaze caressed my face. “I want to kiss you, and I don’t think I can stop if I do.”

My breath caught in my chest. “You don’t have to stop.”

The right corner of his lips lifted. “I think I do. I don’t cheat.”

Confused, I asked breathlessly, “Cheat? You have someone?”

He raised one brow. “No. You do.”

“No, I…” I groaned when his smile grew. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” he whispered, and returned his focus to the sky.

We held hands while we were quiet together and stayed like that all night. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, Landon pulled into my driveway. He jumped out of the car and helped me out, then walked me to my front door. We held each other for a long time, reluctant to part, though all we’d done for the past six hours was talk more and hold hands.

I rested my chin against his chest and gazed at his handsome face. “I enjoyed tonight.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

I wanted him to ask me out again, make plans, or something. Instead, he gave me the sweetest forehead kiss and backed away.

I clasped my hands together over my heart. “When will I see you again?”

Landon promised. “I’ll find you.”

He said it with such certainty that I had no choice but to believe.

Los Angeles

October 13

Dr. K ushered me into her office, and I promptly removed my shoes, pulled my legs up, and sat with them crossed in her large, comfy chair. “It’s been a while. I’m glad you recognized that I would be here if you ever needed.”

“My emotions were so jumbled the last time we spoke,” I said. “I have more clarity and I need you to be a part of my treatment. I’m back on meds. My bloodwork is up to date. Overall, I’m well. Still doing good, and alcohol and drug free since June. I’ll explain that part later. Became official with Landon and had the best and shortest relationship with him because I wanted more than to have a trauma bond partner. I confronted my mother about the past and I’m completely okay if I never speak to her again. I saw Landon again while we were in Austin last week, and we behaved as friends. Me and my brother are tight. The Hollow Bones broke up briefly because of my decision to use but got back together, and I’m still friends with Frankie and Jeri. Just had dinner with them last night.” I clapped my hands.

Dr. K laughed. “That’s got to be the fastest catchup I’ve ever heard.”

“Yep. Because what I need to discuss today is important, and I didn’t want to get caught up in the details of everything that has happened in the last five months. I wanted to meet with you to make sure my current treatment is the best fit for me.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve been taking your meds as prescribed, and for how long?”

“Started back in May and been consistent since July. I’ve been sleeping okay. The mood swings are manageable, and I’m not impulsive.”

“Sounds good.”

I slightly rocked. “I’m too mellow, and I can’t get the flow I used to have. Because of my dry mouth, no matter how much water I drink, my voice is not as clear as it used to be. I know I need some sort of treatment. I just don’t think this is the right one. I’m working on my fourth album, about to go on tour in a few months. I have to get this right.”

“Have you spoken with Dr. Brownson?”

“I will. I wanted to talk to you first. When I was in Austin with Landon, he brought up a good point. He asked how we know for sure I have a chemical imbalance. Maybe my childhood trauma impacted me the way his trauma impacted him, and that’s why I am what I am. Then trying to balance the chemicals in my brain with medicines may not make sense. Think about how diagnoses change with the cultural norms. At one point, homosexuality was considered a mental health diagnosis that needed to be treated. Then they had that insane diagnosis that said a slave that tried to run away had a disorder.”

“I’m fully aware of drapetomania.” Dr. K sighed. “Maybe you were born with an imbalance that some people can handle, and if you didn’t have the trauma, you could have handled it. Are you trying to say you don’t have bipolar?”

“All I’m saying is that, yes, I meet the criteria for bipolar disorder, and I take treatment seriously. But that’s not all I am. I refuse to deny my reality or dismiss the struggles of others by pretending it doesn’t exist. That would be reckless and unfair. I’ve spoken at high schools about my journey with mental health and substance abuse, and I’ve had students tell me my story gave them hope. That matters.

But I am not just a diagnosis. I am not just a survivor. I am not just the girl with bipolar. I am Janae Warner. A woman. An artist. A person with dreams, love, and ambition beyond a label. That’s what I need people to see. Do you understand?”

She nodded with a smile.

“And I want to keep at it until I find the right mix of treatment for me and live the life I want to have.”

“Janae, you surprise me every time.”

“Well, you’re really going to be surprised when I tell you that I plan to get back out there and date.”

She asked, with an arched brow, “Are you over Landon?”

“I’ll never get over him. He showed me love, respect, and true acceptance, and the sex was always hot. We had the most wonderful time looking at the stars and catching up in Austin. He’s been through a lot with his family and his mental health, and yet he seemed happier than I ever recall. But I haven’t heard from him since a week ago, so I need to move on.” I’d resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t keep my life on hold for him.

“Is there someone else you’re interested in?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m just open.”

“Then why not reach back out to Landon?”

“I didn’t really go into details about our breakup. Simply put, Landon needed healing as much as I did, but he wasn’t ready to face it the way I was. Until he could truly live in his own skin, free and unburdened, we wouldn’t make it in the long run. He was recently diagnosed as being on the spectrum and with anxiety, and he is determined to manage it without therapy or medication. That is his choice, but I cannot keep moving forward while he stays where he is. We cannot keep clinging to each other’s pain and calling it love.”

Dr. K clasped her hands together. “Are you sure you are not overanalyzing? That has always been one of your biggest hurdles. Either acting on impulse and making reckless decisions or letting doubt sabotage something before you give it a real chance. That was what I was trying to caution you about the last time we spoke. Love, especially new love, can feel intoxicating, euphoric. But without balance, without a real foundation, the crash can be devastating. I wanted you to be mindful of the highs and lows, not to strip you of love, but to help you find one that lasts. If I came across as judgmental, I regret that. My goal has always been to provide you with a space where you can be honest without fear.”

I exhaled slowly, pushing down the emotions creeping up my throat. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you. Maybe I did feel judged at the time, but I know you have always had my back. I need people around me who will tell me the truth, even when it is hard to hear.”

Dr. K tossed her clipboard onto the desk beside her. “Then hear me now. I saw the reality show. You two weren’t just together. You were in love. And from what I could see, he genuinely cared about you. Yes, there was trauma bonding, and that is undeniable. It may have drawn you to each other. But love is not just about how it starts. It is about whether it can grow.

“How you choose to heal is yours to decide, just as how he chooses to cope is his. Maybe acknowledging his diagnosis is enough for him. Maybe he needs more but is not ready to admit it. That is his journey. The real question is whether you are shutting the door out of fear of repeating past mistakes or because you truly believe there is no future with him.

“Because if there is even a small chance, it is worth exploring before you walk away for good.”

I laughed. “I can’t believe you watched my show. You don’t seem the type to watch reality TV.”

“Oh, I watch them all. I even watch the one where the people are working on a yacht. My guilty pleasure.” Dr. K chuckled.

“And I hear you about Landon. Maybe I will, or maybe I won’t reach out. My priority now is getting the right treatment.”

She smiled. “Understood, and I’ll leave the subject of you and Landon alone for the time being.”

“Thank you. I can obsess about him during our next session.”

Dr. K said warmly, “Welcome back, Janae.”

New York

November 8

Stretching my arms and legs, I bounced around the dressing room at Madison Square Garden, preparing to open a special Grammy night celebrating rhythm and blues. I already had my dress and makeup complete. Frankie and Jeri had already been escorted to their seats so they could see the show as guests of mine.

I moved about the small room, trying to keep my nerves in check. I’d been prescribed anxiety meds to use on an as-needed basis, and I’d been switched to a natural supplement by a pharmacist and herbalist to stabilize my moods. I was followed closely by my mental health team to make sure my current treatment fit me. My vocals were strong again. My energy was back. I was ready to storm the stage.

Tonight, I wore a purple jacket that cinched at my waist and heels. One button held it together, and if Landon were there, he would say that I’d better make sure it didn’t pop so no one else would see what was his. Or he would pop it open and press his head against my breasts because I was his comfort. His life jacket.

“God, I miss that man.” I traced the intricate tattoo of the moon right above my heart, visible through the top of my jacket. I’d gotten the ink after he sent me the recording of his song to honor him, to honor our love whether we found each other again or not.

My less-than-stellar performance and our brief time in Austin had forced me to rethink the long road ahead, especially if I couldn’t find the right mix of treatment so I could do what I loved. Landon and I could have this easy life even with our complicated, beautiful minds.

I planned to call him and catch up, since I would be in New York for a few days. I could check on him and his mother. I would call him after the show, and maybe we could catch a late-night train so fans wouldn’t harass us. Maybe we could talk again about being together. Or maybe we’d just be quiet.

I stared at my reflection. My eyes were bright, luminous, and full of life. A bouquet mixed in with other flowers from fans and other well-wishers caught my eye because of the card with handwriting I recognized. I picked it up.

I couldn’t be prouder of you . Much success in your future.

Adam.

Now I believed he’d forgiven me for everything. Adam had finally sent the acknowledgment I’d wanted all along, but it only reminded me it was validation I no longer needed.

A knock on my door startled me.

“It’s time,” the voice on the other side called.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I walked out and followed the stage manager to my mark. One of her assistants passed me a mic. I wouldn’t be introduced. I would just stroll on stage and start performing a melody of hits, then transition into “Fallen Star.”

My nervousness disappeared. I was doing exactly what I was meant to do. I hit the stage with bravado, displaying my lyrical skills first. Madison Square Garden rocked with me and rapped along to “Premier , ” and then I slowed it down with “A Lonely Woman.” The crowd grew even louder.

As I hit the last note, the lights went out on me, and the spotlight shone on a lone guitarist near the back of the arena. His hat was pulled down low and he focused on his instrument. The crowd roared while my heart threatened to explode. Once he hit the first note and met my gaze, I finally released the breath I’d unknowingly held. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him as he slowly made his way to me.

Every note haunted the Garden as he walked through the aisle with his trademark hat, his eyes trained on me. Everyone was on their feet, enthralled by the song I’d first heard when he played it for me on the boat.

Tears flowed down my face as I saw the certainty in his eyes and in his body language. He walked tall and certain. Fearless. To everyone else, he was a musician passing through the audience like so many before him. I knew differently. This was the ultimate sacrifice for him. This was Landon showing me he didn’t want to live in fear. This was him being the full moon. This was him showing the world his instrument was just as expressive as any voice. This was him showing me he wanted to be with me. This was him showing me that he would not be afraid to soar as high with me as that elusive butterfly.

By the time he’d walked up the stairs to join me on stage, most of the audience had wet cheeks that matched mine. When he removed a tropical hibiscus from his jacket pocket, tucked it in my hair, and kissed my lips softly, I wanted to swoon. He whispered in my ear, “My forever life jacket.”

“Always,” I breathed.

He grinned wide and spoke into my mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Landon Hayes, and this is the phenomenally talented Janae Warner.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on as if I could stop time, as if I could keep the tears at bay. His touch was light but reverent as he traced his finger over my new tattoo just above my chest, right beside my coin.

Wonder flickered across his face, his hazel eyes glowing under the stage lights. Then, with a knowing smirk, he stepped back, lifted his guitar, and struck the first electrifying chords of Prince’s “Baby I ’m a Star.”

I laughed as the beat kicked in, feeling the energy surge through me. The audience clapped along, their voices rising in unison as I joined in, singing. Landon grinned, feeding off the crowd’s excitement, before he signaled to me to segue into our song, “Fallen Star.”

He and I had left our mark on music history that night in Madison Square Garden.