FOURTEEN
WESLEY
I keepmy head down as I hurry across the parking lot into the restaurant Jaxon told me about. It’s far enough out of the way that I don’t have to worry about a pap chancing upon me. The only way anyone will know I’m here is if a server or someone rats me out.
When I step inside the restaurant, I look around briefly, hoping to catch sight of Jaxon before I have to ask for assistance. Luckily, he spots me and stands up from the booth in the back, close to the emergency exit.
Smart.
As I make my way over to him, I try to formulate the words I want to say to him. There’s so much I need to clear up. But how do you fix shit from over a decade ago?
If I remember Jaxon well, he’s forgiving. He’s no pushover, but he doesn’t hold a grudge unless someone gives him a reason to.
Which I did.
I punished him for doing the right thing, and I continued to punish him, the drugs and booze muddling mymind and making me place the blame on someone who didn’t deserve it.
Hell, as early as two months ago, I was still blaming him. Being sober has me thinking clearly, but those lucid thoughts bring in the suffocating guilt for pushing away the one person who risked everything to help me. He had to know I would react badly, and he told his mom anyway to keep me safe.
A few people are sitting around eating, so I lower my gaze before any of them can do a double take and recognize me. From the brief glances as I’m walking to the booth Jaxon is sitting in, I notice the restaurant has the standard look of any chain restaurant—wine glasses hanging from the ceiling, fake vines with plastic grapes attached to the trellises, and paintings of wine, fruit, and the countryside lining the walls.
When I get to the back area where Jaxon is, I see he ordered food for me, the plate still steaming on the other side of the booth.
I look up at him with what I hope is a grateful smile. “Still taking care of me, I see.”
His face drops, and he sits back against the booth. “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous. I figured…you wouldn’t want a server to recognize you.”
“No,” I say, realizing I missed the mark with my comment. “It’s good. Thank you. I…I appreciate it.”
Jaxon’s eyes flare, but he simply nods. He stares at me, eyes bouncing around my face, taking me in. “You look good, Wes.”
My cheeks heat, and I duck my head. It’s been a while since someone said that and meant it. Any other time, it was women who would push up on me, wanting to fuck the leadsinger in a rock band. Since I left rehab, Jaxon has said it twice.
“Thank you. You do too.”
His blush is beautiful, the pink highlighting his cheekbones.
Even though it’s been fifteen years, Jaxon is still the only person I’ve ever been in love with. In a better life, one where my childhood wasn’t stolen and I wasn’t ripped away from my only safe place, we would have been together. Had a life together. Been happy…together.
An awkward silence descends on us, both of us looking around but our eyes flicking at each other every few seconds.
Fuck, why is it so hard to say the words? They flew out easily with Kas, Mitch, and Zed. Even at Lana’s grave when I thought I would choke on my despair. But for the one person that needs to hear the words, I can’t muster the ability to push my apology out.
“How are you?” I say the first thing I can think of.
His eyes widen, as if he didn’t expect me to speak, but a faint smile crosses his face. “I’m okay. Business is good.”
“Your dad enjoying retirement?”
His smile slowly fades as he shakes his head. “Not really, no. He always thought he’d have Mom around when he retired. He tries to hide it, but I know he still beats himself up for not retiring sooner. I moved back in with him so he wouldn’t feel lonely.”
I have to swallow a few times to say what I’d like to, but I manage. “She was a good woman.”
“The best.” His gaze flicks up to me. “She was really proud of you, you know? She talked about you often. Every song, every number one album, every bit of merch, she bragged and bragged about you.”
That means a lot, and it hurts. I have so many regrets where it concerns those I left behind in Tourneville—not coming back to see Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Jaxon, not asking for forgiveness sooner, not telling my mother—Suzette—how she fucked me up before she died, not being the one to kill Perry. So many regrets, but all I can do is try to make the ones I can right.
Starting with Jaxon.
