Chapter 21 #2
“This was always my dream, ever since I was young. I’ve always wanted to be a rock star.
The next David Bowie,” I confess, which earns me a small smile.
“When I got my diagnosis, there was a beat when the guys and I wondered if we should continue, if I would even be able to continue. It wasn’t until we started making real changes that I realized it might be possible.
I started feeling better, and performing started to feel like it used to.
I realized that I didn’t want to give it up.
I’d had a taste of this life, and staying on top of my symptoms felt worth any crumb I could continue to get of it.
” He sighs. “Any risk felt worth it to be able to experience this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I love my job, I love the band. Even if I had to one day wear an oxygen machine, I would push it on stage so I could keep drumming alongside my best friends.”
Her eyes are glossy, her lips upturned with genuine happiness. “That’s beautiful, Lennon.”
“It is,” I agree. “Partying used to be my life. Bristol’s nightlife is a fucking blast, and I miss it, but if I had to choose, it would always be this.
I’m able to do this every night because I don’t expend any other energy.
When the guys go out, I stay in. I make sure I replenish my energy and get plenty of rest for our next show, because that’s my priority.
I’d rather miss a few parties than the whirlwind we get to experience every day. ”
“I’m glad you make it work. I’m glad you get to live your dream,” she tells me, her gaze never leaving mine. “You said this has always been your dream. So, you’ve always loved music?”
“Oh, definitely. I grew up listening to all the classics. My dad was a real British rock fanatic; he had all the records. I remember listening to them every hour of the day.” I smile, thinking back to that time.
Cozy pajamas, a lit fireplace, static from the record player adding ambiance to our holidays.
“My parents’ favorite band was The Beatles. I’m actually named after John Lennon.”
“No fucking way.” She laughs. “You look more like George Harrison.”
“Thank you, I know. And as you can tell, I love my lace and fringe and poet shirts. My mum loved a good rummage in the charity shops, so she got me really into fashion.”
“We should go thrifting sometime,” she suggests, her eyes lighting up.
“I would love that.”
I look at my watch and sigh when I realize how much more time the Wellington needs to rest, my alpha anxious to feed our omega and give her what she needs. But she looks content, her smile light as she looks at me.
“Who are your musical inspirations, then?” she asks. “Your parents love The Beatles, but who do you love?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Her brows lift with intrigue. “One for one?”
“Deal. I’ll start,” I say. “The Smiths.”
She smiles, impressed. “Wolf Alice.”
“Nice. I saw them once. They’re bloody brilliant.”
“Cleo and I did, too. At Lollapalooza.”
A tiny flicker of sadness appears on her face before it’s abruptly gone, her brow arched as she waits.
I continue, “Oasis.”
“Mazzy Star.”
“The Strokes.”
“Yeah Yeah Yeahs.”
She bites her lip, her replies coming so fast that it makes my heart skip a beat as I try to keep up.
“The Who.”
“Evanescence.”
“The Kooks.”
“Jimmy Eat World.”
“Fleetwood Mac”
“Crystal Castles!”
“David Bowie!”
“The Cranberries!”
“The Ramones!”
“Janis Joplin!”
I stumble as I blurt out, “Harry Styles!”
She stops, her face looking shocked and happy all at once. The rush of the moment dissipates as her joy grows. “Me, too. He’s my number one.”
I scoff. “I’m skeptical of anyone who says otherwise. He is a modern gift. And he’s from Cheshire. My dad is from there.”
With that little tidbit from my past, her lips turn upward. “I’m guessing you have a good relationship with your family?”
“Oh, spectacular,” I tell her, thinking of my parents.
“I’m an only child, so I spent a lot of time with them.
They loved music, but that’s not the reason why they got me into drumming.
My dad taught me how to play because I had so much energy.
Jokes on them though, because it just resulted in there being loud banging upstairs all hours of the day. ”
She chuckles, her eyes falling over me. “I’m glad they cultivated your talent. Supported it.”
I go to say something else but then the timer dings, letting me know the twenty minutes are up. “It should be done resting now. Are you hungry?”
She pats her stomach, grinning. “I saved up my appetite just for this.”
“Oh, you had that much faith in my cooking?”
Her face morphs into something bashful, sweet. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but… I trust you, Lennon. If you say you can do something, I know it’s true.”
The sentiment hits me right in the chest and shoots up into my eyes. I’m not an emotional person, but something about that statement puts me at ease. My body relaxes, and I find myself moving closer as I return her soft smile.
“I trust you, too, Josie.” Not little vicious, not J.
Josie.
This is my scent match, and I am ready for what that entails.
“Let’s eat.”