Chapter 20 What’s Your Five-Year Plan?
What’s Your Five-Year Plan?
WITH KARMA LOCKED UP, I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO function.
I had been controlled and living in fight-or-flight for so long that being able to do as I pleased was foreign to me.
My life looked sparkly: I was living in my penthouse and driving my sports car—all paid for by my sugar daddies.
But I couldn’t help but feel sad and broken.
I was never one to wallow in misery—or, should I say, I was never one to deal with my trauma.
So I went on a wild streak. I’d had a man every year of my life since I was in high school, and I just wanted to be single and have some time to myself.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t dip my toe in the dating waters.
I just wanted to smile again. I had my squad of girls around me, and we’d go barhopping every night. Having fun was my main priority. I earned it.
But I was also spending more and more time talking to Jelly, that sweet, Southern charmer I’d met the night of the Moonshine Bandits show.
He’d call and I’d have one of my boy toys lying in bed naked next to me.
I’d get up to take the call in the other room, and he’d ask me questions about his daughter.
He’d tell me about trying to be a better dad, and I loved hearing about it.
Maybe it’s because of Bill, but I’ve always had a soft spot for single dads.
I felt drawn to J in a way I’d never felt in my life.
I was heels over head in love with a man I barely even knew.
I picked out a bed for his daughter, and we bonded over decorating a room for her so he’d be ready when he got full custody.
The first time I ever saw Bailee was actually an accident—her dad’s phone and her iPad had the same login so when I Face-Timed him, it went to Bailee’s iPad.
That little girl appeared on the screen, looking at me with the biggest smile I’d ever seen.
Talking to J was easy. There were no expectations, and conversation flowed energetically.
It was like my body could finally exhale and relax.
And of course, never to stray far from my type, he was a tattooed felon and ex–drug dealer.
But this one was trying to get his life together and take a different path—kinda like me.
By then, I wanted out of the streets and to figure out how to be a better human all around.
J was different from anyone I’d ever met. Yet somehow also familiar, like we’d spent lifetimes together.
* * *
I HAD VISITED GRACE IN Arizona when she was getting cancer treatments, but I could only go once.
Karma had made it a nightmare for me to leave town without him, even if it was to see my sick best friend.
Eventually, Grace went back to Texas to pursue healing and treatments out there, and we texted and talked all the time.
In my heart, she was never going to die and this was all a part of her journey.
She would go back into remission and would be cancer-free one day.
Now that I was free from Karma, I could fly to Texas to be with Grace and help her heal. I was so, so excited.
Gracey! I love you! I’m finally free to come visit you. Text me back so I can plan when I’m coming.
She never replied.
* * *
KARMA WENT TO PRISON THE first week of February 2016. I got the phone call on February 26 that Grace had passed.
The cancer treatment hadn’t worked, and my beautiful Southern belle was gone. I never got to say goodbye in person. We’d said our goodbyes over the phone, but I just thought she was acting the dramatic Gemini that she was.
Grace’s death hit me hard. Very hard. It was just the icing on the cake of the hell I’d been through the past few years. I never thought I’d lose my best friend too—my sister from another mister. Her funeral was planned for the beginning of April, and I knew I had to go to Texas to say goodbye.
My life was about as dark as it had ever been.
I’d just gone through the most vile, abusive relationship I’d ever had and lost my best friend at the same time.
I couldn’t get my head straight to figure out why any of it was happening, and I definitely didn’t know shit about healing.
I needed some kind of escape. It just so happened that J was on tour with Cypress Hill.
I had an off-and-on hookup with someone in that crew—I’d even set J up with the gig by putting in a good word for him—and they were playing an hour from Grace’s funeral.
Fuck it. I decided to stay in town and see J—and my down-low hookup too.
Grace’s funeral was beautiful, just like her.
She was sent off in a church, covered with her favorite flowers and surrounded by the people who loved her.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. I hadn’t broken down, but seeing the casket with her picture beside it broke me.
How do you say goodbye to a person who was so full of life? It just wasn’t fair.
I still miss her laugh. I have so much to tell her and so much I know would make her proud. A decade with her wasn’t long enough. Even writing this, I can’t help but smile thinking about all the crazy shit we did together. What a wild ride, Sis.
After the funeral, I met up with J and hopped on tour briefly with the crew. I was starting to catch the vibe from J that he liked me—and I liked him too. But I was there with my down-low hookup—plus I had my boy toys in Vegas. But I tried to flirt anyway—why not? He was adorable.
I’d missed J’s set, so we stood together backstage and watched Cypress Hill perform. Eventually, he leaned close.
“You wanna go up on the roof and smoke a joint?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, batting my eyelashes. “Absolutely.” We headed upstairs, and on the way, he somehow accumulated two other girls, who I didn’t know. I’d thought we were finally about to get some alone time, but here he was, inviting two random chicks. Absolutely not.
Up on the roof, the girls and J smoked—and since the attention wasn’t 100 percent on me, I dipped the hell out. I just left him there on the roof with ride-alongs. I wasn’t being a hater, but I was exerting my alpha. Pay attention to me and only me, sir.
But I could tell there was something starting. I just didn’t know what the hell it would be.
* * *
J WASN’T THE MAN HE is today back in 2015 when we met, and a year later, he was still bouncing couch to couch and living in his brown van, Bertha.
I’ll never forget the first time J invited Karma and me outside to this heap of shit to smoke a joint.
Full of pride, he slid the door open and revealed the dirtiest vehicle I had ever seen.
And to top it off, it had a mattress lying on the floor inside.
There were used condoms, crumbs, and trash everywhere.
My OCD was pinging the Richter scale when he invited us in to sit down.
I declined and went and sat in my car because it was so disgusting. But that van was his pride and joy.
But dirty van and all, our connection felt spiritual and like it would transcend the red flags of how we first met: me under Karma’s thumb in that bar where J played a show to no one.
Back in Vegas, J and I kept talking on the phone.
He’d watch my stories and see all the other guys I was partying with and nights out with my girls, but we kept getting closer and closer.
He was becoming my buddy. One day, J hit me up and said he was coming to Vegas for a video shoot.
I was excited—even though I’d never tell him that.
“Just drive all night,” I said, “and you can crash with me.” Forty-eight hours later, after a long drive from Tennessee, he showed up on my doorstep with some of his friends. My penthouse had plenty of room.
J wasn’t my type—I love tough guys, or goth, emo boys in eyeliner.
I wasn’t his type either. So why the hell was my soul telling me there he is the minute we met?
I couldn’t explain it. And I didn’t know how he thought about me at all.
I had a hunch, but I wasn’t sure. He’d had a chance, and he blew it.
He walked in to find me hungover and lying in bed with my girl Victoria. I didn’t have a lick of makeup on, and I hid my face. I always had makeup on, and you had to be super-inner circle to see me without it.
“Hi,” I said, staying in bed and as far away as possible. “You made it.”
To this day, that man will not let me forget that I didn’t get up and hug and kiss him when he arrived. After he drove forty-eight hours to get to me.
“You’re not even gonna hug me?” he asked, his feelings hurt.
Reluctantly, I got up and gave him a hug, still trying to hide my face.
It didn’t take long for this man to come into my space and get comfortable.
As soon as he walked in, he dropped his jeans in the middle of the kitchen and left them there.
In fact, he started dropping stuff everywhere, and my OCD was triggered.
I picked up the pair of pants and folded them neatly and laid them on the breakfast bar.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t ya,” I snapped. Already cleaning up after him. Story of my life.
* * *
AFTER THE LONG DRIVE AND ego bruise of me not being elated when he pulled up, J popped a Xanny and passed out in my guest room. When he finally woke his ass up, we decided to go out and get shit-faced. Jay loves a honky-tonk, and the MGM Grand had just opened their very own, Losers.
We had a blast that night, laughing and giggling and just learning about each other—and we killed a whole bottle of vodka between us.
It just felt so right. I sat in his lap and flirted.
I kissed him right there in the bar while our friends whistled around us.
Our chemistry was insane—we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I whispered in his ear.
“Let’s go home.”
* * *
I STRIPPED NAKED AND CALLED J into my room. He walked in, hammered, took one look at me, and just about hit the floor. He was so shy! I sauntered over and sat him down and then got onto his lap. I kissed him and started to take off his clothes.
And that man absolutely would not bang me.
“Hang on, Bunnie,” he said, pulling away and taking a breath. He grabbed at my hands and held them in place. “Let’s just talk for a second.”
What the fuck is there to talk about, my guy?
“Ummm . . . talk?” I was drunk and totally lost. I’d never been naked and ready to fuck to have a man want to talk.
“I just gotta know what we’re doing,” he said. “What’s your five-year plan?”
My fucking what?
“I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow. I sure as shit don’t know what I’m doing in five years.”
All I knew was the room was spinning and I couldn’t form two thoughts, let alone make a plan.
He explained that we were friends. He was fine if it was just a onetime fuck, but he didn’t want us to regret it in the morning—and we needed to be on the same page.
Plus, how casual could it be? I’d decorated his daughter’s future room.
We were so, so connected. He didn’t want to ruin everything.
And he was buying time, too, until his whiskey dick would start working again. I did see that part of his game.
“I really like you,” he said.
“I really like you too,” I said.
“So let’s figure out what we’re doing.”
Frustrated but intrigued, I unstraddled him and lay next to him, wrapping my arm around him. I started to tell him about all the dreams I had. I wanted to be with him. I wanted my own talk show, I wanted to build a brand, I wanted to buy a house with the man I married, I wanted to raise a family.
He told me about getting custody of Bailee and how his life would change once she was home with him. He told me he wanted to buy a house and what he wanted for his music career. And he wanted to be with me.
For hours, we lay there together, dreaming out a future and how we could be part of it for each other. We didn’t hold back anything. It was the most honest conversation I’d ever had. And I told him that no matter what happened with us, I’d help him get his little girl.
By seven a.m., we’d landed on the same page and sobered up.
“Pinky promise we’re going to make these dreams come true?” he asked, holding out his little finger. I hooked mine around his.
“Pinky promise,” I said.