21. Ari
TWENTY-ONE
ARI
It takes less than two and a half hours to fly from Los Angeles to Seattle, but the stark difference in the weather makes it feel like it’s worlds away. This morning it was bright and sunny, and now everything is filtered through a haze of rain and fog.
Oddly, I prefer the overcast Seattle sky to the endless blue of LA. I like the way the air feels heavier here, thick with the smell of moss and wet concrete. It makes everything feel more intimate, more real, like the atmosphere itself expects you to confront whatever weight you’re carrying.
LA offered sunshine, warm afternoons, and breezy evenings that gave the illusion of ease. The sea and sun were beautiful, but they offered me no comfort—only an opportunity to pretend.
If there’s one thing therapy has helped me understand, it’s that pretending winter doesn’t exist doesn’t keep it from coming. Living in a bubble, hiding from conflict, and turning to easy comforts aren’t lasting solutions to the things that hurt.
Which is why I need to finally confront Will. We’ve hardly spoken to each other in over two weeks, since our fight in New Orleans.
The last time I laid eyes on him was a week ago at the rescheduled charity concert, and we barely talked to each other at all.
It was partly because the show was such a massive success.
The night was chaos in the best way. We all walked away from the stage that night buzzing, adrenaline keeping the after-party going strong into the early hours of the morning.
Will was in his element that night, and it showed.
He practically glowed while talking animatedly with the creators of the Waves app, discussing all the ways their platform aligned with ours.
Music and revolution are folded together in the fabric of humanity, and mixing social justice work with trash-talking fascist politicians is basically Will’s love language.
That night, we had a stage to do both, and we gave it everything we had.
We raised over eight-hundred thousand dollars after all was said and done, and as a band we’ve decided to round it up to an even million dollars.
None of us are particularly big spenders, and after the last couple of years we’ve had, we can afford to make extra contributions outside of what we all donate normally.
While we normally wouldn’t advertise all the charity and community outreach work we do, we decided collectively that now was the time to be an example.
If anything, our communities and country need to see someone stand up.
We have the platform and we have the privilege, so we’re going to use it.
That night had been a huge rush of energy and hope that was needed on multiple levels.
I’d flown in with a cautious sense of hope that Will and I might be able to sit down and have a conversation about what happened after my date with Alonso.
Seeing him animated and lit up the way he was, it made me gravitate to him even more.
I was ready to tell him the truth—that I went to LA with Alonso, but not in the way he thought.
It was immature of me to let him think I left to be with him, to want him to hurt as badly as I was at the time.
There were a dozen moments when I almost reached for his sleeve, almost leaned in to get his attention, but everything moved too fast. People were everywhere, and it felt like every second someone else needed us for a photo op or sound bite.
Before I knew it, the night was over and Will was nowhere to be found.
I only got to see him briefly the next morning as he was on his way out to head back to Raleigh with Naz. I had hoped we would be forced together again in New York. Maybe the universe would do the hard part for us. Instead, it was Will who found me before he left.
Will has always avoided confrontation, especially with me.
Most of the time, Will Kessler’s version of conflict resolution has been to pretend nothing is happening.
Everything is fine here. Nothing to see.
This is perfectly normal. So the moment he took me aside and so much as acknowledged what had happened, I was sat .
It felt like something was shifting—not just with him, but with me. With us.
Will didn’t give excuses or a clipped apology meant to smooth things over. What he gave me was an honest apology, complete with ownership of his actions and consideration for how it impacted me. Every word was careful and sincere. He even told me he’d started therapy and was going twice a week.
When he said that my growth and healing was what inspired him to try, I almost laughed. No amount of therapy or toxic behavior on his part could lessen my feelings for him. I’d still kneel at his feet and hand him a leash if it meant I could have him.
But just like he gave me the time and space I needed to grow, I knew I needed to do the same. And there simply wasn’t enough time to say everything I needed to say. We barely exchanged a few words about how intense therapy was before Naz shouted that it was time to go.
Will had looked at me then, really looked at me, and quietly said that he hoped I knew how much I meant to him. That he would do anything to be the person I needed him to be.
He was gone before I could respond.
That moment has stuck with me every day since, and I’ve waited on pins and needles to be in his presence again. Now, standing across from him in the rec room of the massive suite we’re staying in, the weight of all the words left unsaid presses in on me from every direction.
The suite we’re staying in is enormous, even bigger and more luxurious than the ones we normally stay in.
Jesse wanted enough space between his room and the rest of us when he brings his boyfriend to stay with us.
Apparently, he’s worried we might misbehave and make his gorgeous NFL boyfriend uncomfortable.
He’s private , he said, embarrasses easily. Don’t tease him.
As if we’d ever do such a thing.
I’m more preoccupied by the man still standing with his back to me, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city below, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair has grown out a little longer, and if I’m not imagining things, he’s standing a little taller.
I’m leaning against the pool table, fingers idly tracing the felt edge, pretending to be more interested in the layout of the room than I am in the man who has been at my side since I was eight years old.
Since when am I nervous around Will? I’ve felt a lot of things around Will over the years—safe, angry, desperate, loved, furious, aroused, seen, controlled, protected—but I have never once felt like the butterflies in my gut might revolt.
I have certainly never stumbled for words the way I am right now.
Now, my mouth feels dry. My brain feels empty. And those damn butterflies are definitely staging a rebellion.
The silence is starting to make me question everything about myself and the confidence I’ve worked up to talk to him today. “How was your flight in?” I ask cautiously.
“Wet,” he says, turning to look at me over his shoulder. Of course he’s not surprised by my presence. He probably knew the moment I walked in and just let me have my quiet moment.
“Raining in Raleigh, too?”
He nods. “It was rainy and cold as shit all week, but it’s supposed to be almost seventy tomorrow.”
“Figures. If you don’t like the weather in North Carolina…”
“…wait five minutes,” he finishes on cue.
I smile. He smiles. And something settles inside me.
“I missed your face,” I tell him.
“I missed your sharp wit.”
I stick out my tongue, and he grins widely. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts. Loosens a little, maybe. I push off the pool table and grab a cue, rolling it between my palms even though I have no intention of actually playing. My hands need something to do.
Will glances at me, then away again, like he is trying to give me space without fully stepping back. “How was… how are things?” he asks, then clears his throat. “With Alonso, I mean.”
The question catches me off guard. Not because I wasn’t expecting his name to come up eventually, but because of the way Will asks it. Carefully. Genuinely. There is a flicker of pain there, but there’s effort too. He is really trying so hard.
I inhale slowly. “He’s good,” I say, which is true enough. “He’s working a lot. The storm messed up a lot of the landscape where they were filming in Louisiana, so they’ve been focused on filming as much as they can on set in Los Angeles.”
Will nods, accepting the answer without pushing. That alone feels monumental. I open my mouth to tell him more, to explain, but before I can say anything else, the double doors to the rec room burst open.
Naz barrels in, throwing his hands in the air. “Apparently they’re fucking,” he announces. “So we’ve been asked not to leave this room.”
I snort. “Seriously?”
Naz gives me a look. “Cory just showed up with bags in his arms and said the two of them were going to need some privacy before they were ready for company.”
My face contorts. “What, they couldn’t wait until they could get to a bedroom. Are they going to wheelbarrow through the suite with Luc’s dick in Jesse’s ass?”
Will laughs, the sound sharp and surprised, like it slipped out before he could stop it. “Dude looks big, maybe he’s just carrying him upside down with his face in Jesse’s ass and?—”
“Yeah, alright, that’s enough of that. Who wants to do a few shots before they get here?”
Naz pours a single round. We aren’t twenty anymore, and we all backed way off the booze when Jesse quit drinking.
We normally don’t drink in the suites at all, but Naz and Will must be feeling the same nerves I am, because none of us hesitates to knock the shot back.
The alcohol burns on the way down, familiar and grounding.