“Good meeting?” I ask.
He looks apprehensive when he answers, “Pretty good.”
“It doesn’t look like it. What’s up?”
“My management and the label want me to do more live shows. They want a few showcases on the West Coast and a reunion concert for charity with No Left Turn. Plus, they want a commitment for future dates on the East Coast.”
“That sounds like it would get you a lot of attention and is what you expected. What’s wrong?”
He sighs and pulls me close to his side. “I’m nervous.”
“Like stage fright?” I ask.
“No, my nerves ramp up before a show, but I use that to fuel my performance. I don’t know about being on the road. Being here with you, I haven’t given a thought to my addiction. But I’m afraid that being on the road could lead to temptations. It’s a cliche, but partying is part of being a musician.”
I hug him closer to me, unsure if there’s anything I can do for him. I understand that falling off the wagon is a genuine fear for him, but I can’t be with him all the time to keep him sober.
“Will you be gone for long?” I ask him.
“No longer than a week at a time.”
“Then think of it as a practice run. You’ll know what to expect and can make any adjustments before you go out on a longer tour. You can do this.”
He looks down at me and kisses my forehead, “Thank you, Kitten. I needed to hear that.”
“And if you relapse, we’ll ensure you get any help you need.” I reach up to cup his face, meeting his eyes. “I love you, Talon, and I’m so proud of you for getting clean and caring for yourself.”
He smiles, and I think I see tears in his eyes. “I love you too, Blake Knox. You’re amazing. ”
His lips meet mine, gentle at first but quickly become rougher. His hands wander as I open my mouth and pull his bottom lip in. My hands snake their way up his shirt when we hear the front door open. I reluctantly let Talon pull away.
“That must be Foster. He’s going to need you now.”
He gives me a gentle kiss and gets off the couch. Foster walks in, and they cross paths with a nod before Foster plops beside me. He lays his head in my lap and looks up at me. I run my fingers through his silky brown locks, massaging his head.
He moans, “That feels so good, pretty girl.”
After we sit in silence for a minute, I ask him, “Do you want to talk about how it went?”
He sighs, “It went…fine.”
And nothing more. So I poke him in the side. Foster doesn’t hold his feelings in, so I know he’s holding back to protect me.
“More. I can take it,” I tell him.
“They just don’t get it. I don’t care if they never do, but they could at least support me. Even tolerate it.”
“And they don’t?”
“Maybe. They listened when I told them I wouldn’t be part of a family who looks down on my choices.” I open my mouth to argue, but he puts his hand over it. “I know you don’t want me to push my family because of you and our relationship, but it's more than that. They refuse to accept me and what I want for my own life. That’s not going to work.”
I kiss his hand over my mouth, and he lowers it. I lean over and press my lips to his forehead.
“I love you, Foster Holland. And I love that you’re willing to fight for us and this strange family we’re building for ourselves.”
He smiles at me, and the lines that marred his face disappear. “I love you too.”
I’m all the way in with these men.
