Chapter Nine
Ash
Loralei's place is a cute little bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac, with massive rosebushes growing beneath the windows and pink shutters. Inside, one entire wall is dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Her furniture is gently worn, the color scheme soft and inviting.
"Dinner is almost finished," she says, leading me into a small kitchen overlooking the backyard. My stomach growls as soon as I step over the threshold and catch the mouthwatering hint of garlic butter in the air.
"What can I do to help?"
"Mm. Set the table?" she calls over her table, her hips swaying as she hurries to the stove to deal with a bubbling pot. "I just need to finish the noodles."
"Spaghetti?" I ask hopefully.
"I hope you don't mind," she says, almost like she expects me to be offended. "I didn't have a lot of time."
"Loralei." I wait until she meets my gaze. "You worked all day, spent time helping out at the bookstore, and still made time to cook for me," I murmur. "Believe me, baby, I'm grateful."
A tiny, pleased smile twists at her lips.
"Where can I find plates?"
She points me in the right direction, and I get to work. "Have you lived here long?" I ask, laying out silverware beside our plates.
"Not really. My grandma left the house to me when she passed a couple of years ago."
I pause, startled. "It was your grandma's house?"
"Yeah," she says quietly. "I'm her only grandkid, so she left it to me. I lived in an apartment closer to downtown before."
"Were you two close?"
"We were." A wistful smile tugs at her lips. "She's the reason I got into reading. When I was little, she took me to the library every week to pick out books."
"I love that," I murmur, leaning a hip against the counter to watch her.
She moves around the kitchen efficiently, mixing the sauce, then testing the noodles before turning off the burner and transferring them to a strainer in the sink.
As soon as they're in a bowl, she's pulling bread out of the oven, then returning to the sauce.
"Your dad raised you, right?"
I arch a brow and then chuckle when she blushes. "Keep forgetting you're a fan," I mutter ruefully. "We never talk about any of that shit. Makes it easy to forget."
"I like this better," she whispers. "Meeting you as a person instead of a celebrity. It feels more real, you know?"
"For me too," I admit, not sure she has any idea just how real she makes me feel.
I've thought about nothing else all day.
With her, I'm not Ash Kilborne, lead singer of Midnight Mayhem.
I'm just Ash, the motherfucker lucky enough to get to touch her, hold her, kiss her.
That's more addictive than alcohol could ever be.
I've thought about that a lot today, too.
When you've been through addiction, there's always this fear that you'll replace one addiction with another.
I think maybe I've been doing that for a long time, working myself so goddamn hard because if I'm working all the time, there's no time for temptation.
At least, that's what I thought until I was staring down a bottle of whiskey, realizing that maybe I'd worked myself into the very problem I'd been trying to avoid.
Now, I've met her, and a little part of me worries that, maybe, I'm trying to use her to replace all the other shit.
Except…that doesn't feel right. This feels different than anything ever has.
I don't feel like I'm running from anything with her.
I feel like I'm running to something, like I'm precisely where I'm supposed to be.
And the longer I'm here, the longer I'm with her, the less I want to go back to the other shit or introduce her into it. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that. I don't know what I should do about it. But I know I need to decide. Soon.
I glance up and realize she's staring at me, still waiting for my answer. "Yeah." I clear my throat. "My dad raised me. At least, I guess that's what you call it."
"He wasn't a good dad?"
"He tried. Here." I step forward, grabbing the bowl of pasta from her hands to carry it to the table. "He just had his own shit. He spent a long time in the military, had his own demons. He did his best, but a lot of the time, I feel like music raised me more than he did."
"He died right after your first album, right?"
"Yeah, cancer."
"I'm sorry," she says, placing her hand on my back. "Even if you guys had issues, I can't imagine losing him was easy."
"It never is," I murmur, turning to brush my fingers along her cheek, just to touch her. Just to watch her shiver and sway toward me. "What about you, baby? Where are your parents?"
"On a cruise ship somewhere in Alaska," she breathes, staring up at me with this look that makes me want to say fuck dinner, fuck conversation, fuck everything but her and the way I want to spread her out and devour her.
Christ, if this is an addiction, it's the best goddamn one I've ever had. But I don't think it's that. I think the tightness in my chest is something else altogether.
It's love, and it's burning a hole straight through me.
"Have you come to your senses yet?" Jess asks as soon as she picks up her phone on Tuesday, her tone rife with annoyance.
I smile despite myself, leaning back against the headrest, my eyes locked on the doors to the library.
I can't see Loralei inside, but just knowing she's in there has my body lit up like a fucking firework.
It's taking everything I have to keep from finding an excuse to head inside, just to see her again.
I stayed at her place last night, slept in her bed with her in my arms. Letting her leave for work this morning was hard as hell. Would she lose it if she knew I followed her here?
"I never lost my senses, Jess," I say.
"Could have fooled me. You realize you're supposed to be recording an album right now, right? Instead you're…where even are you again?"
"Santa Maria," I remind her, even though we both know she knows exactly where I am. She helped me secure a rental for Loralei on Sunday. And we talked again briefly yesterday.
She grunts. "You're in Santa Maria, doing god only knows what. I swear, if you're drinking again, Ash…"
"I'm not," I say quickly.
"Well, that's a relief," she mutters into the phone as an elderly man stumbles through the doors of the library, a book tucked under his arm. "Because when you failed to call me back on Friday, I was convinced you were on a bender."
"I haven't been on one of those in fifteen years," I remind her softly. "I just didn't have cell service."
She snorts again, clearly still bent out of shape. I don't really blame her for it. Jess acts tough as nails, but we both know it's only because she worries. And skipping town without a word has given her plenty of reason to do that.
I think I'm about to give her more.
"I need a favor," I murmur.
"What kind of favor? Because I already helped you find a rental, even though you wouldn't tell me why."
"It was for the woman I almost hit."
"The woman you…" she trails off and then groans. "Jesus Christ, Ash. What are you doing?"
I hesitate, not entirely sure I know how to answer that question. "I'm taking a break," I say carefully. "I came damn close to downing a bottle of whiskey last week, Jess."
Dead silence rings down the line.
"Figured that meant it was time for me to get the fuck out of town and get my head on straight."
"You could have told me," she says. "I would have cleared your schedule before it came to that."
"You know I'm a stubborn bastard."
"And that's precisely why you shouldn't be alone right now. If your sobriety is at risk, you need to be in treatment, not alone with your own thoughts. You can't rawdog your way through it."
"That's the thing…"
"What?" she growls.
"I'm not alone. I, ah, hell." I chuckle ruefully, shoving a hand through my hair. "The woman I nearly ran over has been staying with me."
"Jesus Christ," Jess groans.
"It's not like that. You know me better than that.
" For all my sins and excesses, that's never been one of them.
I'm no saint. No one in Hollywood is. But I don't blow through women, either.
I can't even remember the last time I was with anyone.
Hell, I don't even remember the last time I was on a date that wasn't some PR bullshit.
I've spent the last five years just trying to hold it together.
Until now, until Loralei.
"I could use some advice."
"Get into treatment," Jess says immediately. "You can't bury an addiction in a woman."
She's right. Except…I'm more convinced than ever that's not what I'm doing.
I haven't thought about drinking a single time since I met Loralei.
I haven't wanted to escape, haven't wanted to be numb.
Haven't felt stretched thin or like being blitzed would be preferable.
I've felt…more at peace over the last few days than I have in years, more excited than I have in longer than I can remember.
"What would retirement look like?" I ask. It's not the first time I've thought about it lately. But it is the first time I've asked the question out loud.
Judging by the silence echoing down the line, Jess is shocked to hear it. Or, hell, maybe she's not. I don't know anymore. The last five years feel like some fucked up, never-ending dream. Maybe my entire career feels that way.
I'm tired.
Eventually, Jess sighs. "I'd ask how long you've been considering this, but I know you well enough to know this isn't a recent development, is it?"
"No." I pause. "But maybe recent developments have added a little urgency to the desire. Loralei doesn't belong in my world."
"You think she's the one?"
I hesitate, and then bark out a laugh. "Hell, I think maybe I knew she was the one five minutes after I met her.
But she deserves a helluva lot more than the kind of life I can currently give her.
" The way I've been living is no kind of life for anyone, let alone a woman like Loralei.
If I want to keep her, shit has to change. I have to change it.
"You want to stay, don't you?"
"Yeah." I swallow hard, my eyes locked on the doors of the library again. Is it too soon to admit that shit? Maybe. But when you've lived like I have, you learn to grab onto the good shit and hang on tight. If you don't, it's gone before you can blink.
I'm not willing to let Loralei be one of the things that disappears from my life.
I've had the music. I've had the fame. I've checked off every goddamn thing on my list of dreams. Maybe I'm finally realizing I have new ones now, and those new dreams don't involve working myself to exhaustion or playing for sold-out crowds anymore.
They involve more nights like last night, where we talked for hours over her dinner table before she let me carry her to bed and make love to her until we were both too exhausted to move.
They involve her falling asleep on my chest, and me doing my best to fuck up her hair and makeup before she even had both finished this morning.
I don't want to be relegated to the parking lot of the library, unable to stroll in to see her unless I'm in a disguise because I'll cause a scene. I want to be able to waltz the fuck in and openly monopolize her time.
"I can't get you out of the album," Jess warns me. "You have to finish it. But I can talk to the label, let them know this will be your final album. We can spin it as a farewell album. I'm sure that'll drum up plenty of publicity on its own." She pauses. "What does the band think?"
"They don't know yet, but I don't think they'll be entirely surprised." I tip my head back, glancing up at the ceiling liner. "Frankly, I think Jett and Rhodes will be relieved to hear it. They want more time with their families."
"I'll miss the hell out of you, kid," Jess sighs.
"It's not a done deal yet."
"Maybe not, but your mind is already made up," she murmurs. "All that's left to do is make it official."
Well, that and talk to Loralei. What will she say? Will she even want me here permanently? I think I know the answer to that question. It's written all over her face every time she looks at me. But…maybe I should wait until the pieces are in place to have that discussion with her.
If shit doesn't work out the way I want it to, I don't want to break her heart by promising her something too soon.
When I tell her, I want her to know that it's not a maybe or something I'm considering, but a done deal.
I want her to know that, out of every possible future I can imagine, I've chosen the only one I can live with.
The one where I fit into her life as if I were always supposed to fill that empty spot in her heart.