by Mandi Beck
“Was that Joaquin?” Yep. Difficult.
“It was, nosey,” I quip.
“Not nosey, just curious.” He shifts, leaning back, hands gripping the rounded edges of the granite. “You like him a lot, Wills, or is he just the safety guy?”
“The safety guy?” My brows are drawn in confusion.
“You know. The guy you pick because he’s the safest bet.”
“You mean the one who won’t get high and forget that he has a girlfriend? If that’s the safe you’re referring to, then yes.” Snipping at him isn’t going to stop his meddling. I’m not even really angry. Just guilty. That guilt, over one little kiss, no matter how not little it really was, is eating me up.
“Don’t be mad,” he soothes. “And you’re not telling me shit I don’t know. I was there. Fuck, Willow, I wouldn’t blame you for choosing the safety guy. I just want you to choose him for the right reasons.”
Law does know, better than anyone. I’m reminded of how bad things got and how he helped me more often than not, all while denying what was going on.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.” Rubbing my temples, I grin at him and his big brother posturing. “I may not be certain of what I’m doing or with who, but I promise you that it will be for the right reasons. It’s not just me I have to worry about anymore.” We both look at Lyric, still playing with Ro and Judge.
“You’re a great mom, Wills. I always knew you would be though. You mothered the hell out of all of us even though we’re older,” he chides, making my grin morph into a face-splitting smile.
“You all needed it! Your poor mom. She was a saint to put up with all of your rowdy asses.” I laugh.
“You’re right about that. She still is.” The fondness in his voice warms my heart. “Willow?”
I tear my eyes from my daughter and her “uncles.” “Hmm?”
“I’ve got your back. Always. No matter if you choose the safety guy or Stone.” Law pauses, making sure I understand that he’s sincere. “I mean it.”
With emotion clogging my throat I just nod. These rock stars are gonna be the death of me. When did they all get so damn feely and deep?
Willow
I’M BEHIND THE BAR POURING out three shots of tequila for a couple regulars when Carleen nudges me with her pointy little elbow. “Oww!” I scowl and then follow her line of sight when she keeps staring straight ahead. That’s when I see him. Stone. Guitar swung around and pressed to his back, his loose limbed swagger, frayed jeans, and black t-shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders. He’s been hitting the gym again . . . hard. And it shows. I glance down the length of the bar and see JD sitting there with a pint, talking to one of the headhunters from the label. Not paying any attention to what’s happening around him. Thankfully.
Bringing my attention back to the front, I shout over the too-loud crowd, “What the hell is he doing?” This is so not my scene. JD and I are supposed to be at his house having dinner, but Cora had a bartender call in as well as one of the bands slotted for tonight—my guess is they’re together—and asked if I could fill in. I’d never deny Cora anything, even if it’s torture. I ask again and Carleen just shakes her head, eyes still glued to Stone. With shaky hands, I pass the shots to the group waiting and fill my next order. Eyes darting back to the stage every few moments and then to Joaquin to see if he’s noticed the bane of his existence yet. He hasn’t. My head snaps up when I hear Bear’s booming voice.
“Hello my Dirty Birds! How the fuck are you? I’ve got a special treat for you lucky bastards. You won’t be seeing Queens Nation tonight,” he announces which is met with a round of boos. “Oh shut your mouths, ya filthy animals,” Bear taunts. Way more animated than usual. “Instead of those assholes who are MIA along with my bartender, I have for you a real motherfucking rock star!” Why is he playing him up like that? He doesn’t even like Stone. Damn traitor. “Stone Lockhart from Wrecked is here and has agreed to do a few songs—” Before he can finish, the whole damn bar goes ballistic. Lovely. There’s no way Joaquin missed that. Glancing over, I find him watching me in that quiet way of his. I raise my hands palm up and shrug assuring him that this wasn’t my doing. Then I try to busy myself with the people screaming drink orders at me, pretending like I’m not drawn to the man standing on the stage so that the man, my man, sitting at the bar won’t see. It’s a losing battle as soon as he starts speaking. There’s no way to ignore him even though I want to. He has such a presence about him. A magnetism that I’ve never been able to look away from.
“Wow! You guys are fucking awesome,” Stones says, chuckling softly as he pulls up the stool and flips his guitar around to his front while settling himself on the seat, foot propped on the top rung, pulling his jeans taut against his thighs. He adjusts the mic first and then his cock with a devil’s grin. “Sorry.” Liar. “Clearly the band’s not with me. They’re in Austin handling some shit with the label. I stayed behind to take care of more important . . . things.” His voice dips low and he looks up in the direction of the bar through a curtain of black hair over his one eye. It’s impossible for him to see me with the house lights up, but I can feel his stare and my breath catches. “Since the guys aren’t here, I’m gonna do a couple covers instead of our stuff. Songs that hit home with me.” He takes a swig from the water bottle that Bear put on the table next to him. “You mind if I take a minute, get some shit off my chest?” he asks the patrons, laughing when they answer in unison, the whole damn bar like it’s a first grade classroom. “Good. I thank you for that. Bunch of polite fuckers. I’m from Texas and I thought we were polite. We ain’t got shit on y’all.” Stone waits for the whistles and laughs to die down and then crosses his arms over the top of his guitar, the whole place so quiet you can hear a pin drop. “It’s no secret that I’m an addict.” I shift uncomfortably on my feet, he shrugs nonchalantly. “Doesn’t make me special. Or a better musician, although some may argue that. Being an addict has taught me a lot though. About who I am, who the fuck I want to be, and who matters most in my life.” Again he looks toward the bar, like he’s talking directly to me. And like whoever is working the lights tonight knows it, they dim them so that he can see me. I feel trapped in his gaze. His smile widens, although I can see the sadness in it, the vulnerability. “And who matters most . . . got pushed away. I lost her when I got lost in the dope. My heart hasn’t beat in rhythm since the day she left. So, say no to fucking drugs,” he says to lighten the mood. And then he goes and says, “This one’s for you, Willow.”
Not Birdie. Not Wills. Willow so that everyone in the room knows who he means. And then he launches into Imagine Dragons’ “I Was Me” and my world implodes. My breath hitches and the tears are instantaneous as the words wash over me, invading my every pore and seeping below my skin to grab a hold of my heart, squeezing, wrapping, filling the cracks he caused that these words are helping to heal. “Please believe me when I tell you that this is not who I am . . . If I recover will you take me back?” I can’t look away. The words, they couldn’t hold more meaning if he had written them himself. There’s a tear sliding down my cheek that I don’t bother wiping away. It wouldn’t make a difference; they just keep coming. Stone’s gaze is piercing, steady, and then he closes them on a soulful note and the beauty of the moment, nostalgic on so many levels, and new, and just . . . overpowering, is overwhelming. When the song ends, he opens his eyes and meets mine, blurred with tears, before lowering his head. I’m assuming to rein in his emotions because I feel like doing much the same. The crowd gives him that brief time and then they detonate in deafening applause.
With the reminder that we’re not alone, the spell’s broken, and I whip my head to where Joaquin was sitting only to find him gone. I go on tiptoes and scan The Dirty Bird but don’t see him anywhere. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I curse. The thought of him witnessing my reaction to that kills me. He doesn’t deserve this limbo that I find myself in with Stone. I care about JD so much. So damn much. His patien
ce is beyond my comprehension. If I were him, I would’ve been gone weeks ago. Stone taunts him at every turn, throwing our past in his face. And still Joaquin stays. Mumbling something to Carleen, I toss the bar towel down and stalk toward the break room where I’m most likely to find Bear. I need to do something with these emotions and being pissed is better than whatever it is I’m doing now.
“What the hell was that, Bear? Since when are you Team Stone?” I bite out in aggravation, storming into the small room. I don’t mean to take it out on him. I shouldn’t, but I just feel out of my mind right now. Like I have no control over myself.
Stone’s voice as he sings a Sam Hunt song that I’m certain he’s playing for my benefit, filters past the door, trickling through the walls it seems, to reach out and wrap me up in the words. I stomp over and close the door, trying to tame the reaction his voice evokes.
“I’m not Team Stone. I just—I just think I misjudged the guy,” Bear says.
“Misjudged? Bear, he would get high and forget about me. Cheat on me. Kick me out of our fucking hotel room with some skank clinging to him.” Bear knows what happened that night, the why’s and where’s and the consequences. He doesn’t need the reminder any more than I do.
“I know, Willow. I know.” He sighs and takes my hand. “I’m going to tell you something not even Cora knows.” He takes a deep breath, watching me. “My older brother was an addict.” Bear pauses and I flinch at his words.
“Jonah?”
He nods. “I never told Cora because I didn’t want her to look at him any differently. It was when I was in college. He had only been married a couple years, baby on the way when he fell at work and hurt his back.” With a small shake of his head he goes on, “The pain pills got him. Then when he couldn’t get those anymore, someone turned him on to meth. Nasty shit that is,” Bear spits out in disgust. “He would act out, and do stuff he never would, say things to hurt you one minute and apologize the next. I’d never seen mood swings like that. I even talked to his wife about maybe him being bipolar, you know, since our mom was.” Bear sighs. “This went on for over a year. Then came the other women, the lying, the sneaking around. It all became more and more obvious and I knew something was seriously wrong. My brother loved his wife. Had since we were kids. He was a good man, an honest man. This wasn’t my brother.”
Hearing him say these things is like listening to him talk about Stone. Not that all addicts are the same, but the similarities are there and my heart breaks for his wife. I know all too well what she went through. Loving an addict is not easy. Especially when they’re hellbent on tearing everything apart.
“I finally confronted him and for weeks he denied it. But I couldn’t let it go. This was my big brother, the man I looked up to, aspired to be like. My best friend. So I started following him. I caught him with some random woman and a bag of meth, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I gave him an ultimatum, either he checked into rehab or I called the cops.” Bear smiles. “He’s been clean for over a decade now.” I smile along with him. I’ve met Jonah and his family a few times, been to their house for barbecues even. He’s a great guy. I never would have guessed that he’d been through all that. Nor Roby, his wife. They’re so in love.
“I look at Stone and I see my brother. I can’t help it,” Bear says. “I look at him and Lawson going to meetings every couple days and I’m brought back to a time when I would sit in the back of some room in a church basement with Jonah because he was having a bad day or just needed to know that he wasn’t alone. I have a pretty good idea about what he’s going through, and although I’m not Team Stone, I am Team Jonah, and it wouldn’t be fair to my brother if I looked down upon Stone for being a recovering addict who made a shit ton of fucking mistakes, eh?” He pulls me in for a hug. “I’m also Team Willow and only want what’s best for you. I’m not saying it’s him, because only you can know that. All I’m saying is let’s not condemn the man for his sins when he’s trying so damn hard to make them right.” He looks down at me and smiles almost sheepishly, “I heard every word the other day at the studio. It takes a real man to admit all of that, Willow.” Squeezing me tight he releases me and walks out of the break room, letting in the velvety sound of Stone, the words “You can say we’re done the way you always do, it’s easier to lie to me than to yourself . . .” finding their way to me. Like a message. A message I can’t argue with. God damn Sam Hunt and Stone Lockhart.
Going over to the employee lockers, I open mine and yank out my stuff and stride out of the bar, not slowing, doing my best not to falter when Stone croons, “We don’t have to miss each other . . . Come over . . .”
Insides a mess, tears already in my eyes, guilt and sadness eating at me, I stand at Joaquin's door, waiting anxiously for him to answer. After what seems like an eternity but is barely a minute, he opens. A look of melancholy on his handsome face, hair a tussled, sexy mess. He smiles sadly and stands aside for me to enter.
“I’m sorry it's so late. I tried to call, but it just went right to voi—” my voice trails off when I see the broken phone strewn on the coffee table. Like he had been trying to put the shattered pieces back together again. It’s almost metaphorical. “We need to talk.” There’s a tremble in my voice that I can’t hide.
Joaquin sighs loudly. “I knew this was coming. From that first day he showed up. I knew we would have this talk.” Not mad, just . . . resigned, he stalks over to the wet bar in the corner of his sunken living room. All floor to ceiling windows behind him, the lights of Toronto winking at us from below. “I need a drink. Care for one?” he asks with raised eyebrows. Of all the times I’ve wished I hadn’t given up drinking, this is one that tests me the most.
“No, thank you,” I murmur. Giving him space to fix his drink, I think about all I want to say. How I want to say it and what it means for both of us. I didn’t enter into this with him lightly. It was something I wanted. He was someone I wanted.
“As soon as he started singing tonight, I knew I was fucked,” Joaquin says, swearing uncharacteristically, before taking a swig from his glass. “I thought I’d dodged the bullet at the award show when you got up so that you wouldn’t have to see him perform.” He looks at me knowingly and I flush. I knew I wasn’t fooling him. “You got up and I breathed a little easier. Then he sang a song called ‘Willow’ and I damn near rejoiced that you weren’t there to hear it. I mean, I was taken by him after that performance,” Joaquin tries to kid. “I never let myself dwell on why you couldn’t stay, chèrie. And that was my first mistake.” The ice in his tumbler tinkles as he makes his way from behind the bar area to stand in front of me. “I let you avoid the truth so that I could do the same. So you see, we’re both to blame.” His smile is gentle, but doesn’t reach his eyes. Very carefully, his eyes following his movements, he takes my hair and drapes it over my shoulder, letting his fingers glide through the strands. Stroking over it softly, I can see him contemplating his next words, see them churning around, gearing up to actually voice them. “Have you been sleeping with him, Willow?” His eyes land on mine, holding me there until I answer. They’re the color of dark chocolate, and just as intense.
“No,” I answer simply. Never breaking our gaze or wavering. I see the moment he believes me and know that it doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving here tonight nothing more than an eventual friend. I can’t lie to him by omitting the truth. “I never slept with him.” Softly I confess, “But I wanted to.” Joaquin sucks in a breath and closes his eyes briefly. Before he can say anything, I finish with the confession, “He kissed me. The other day. I told him that I wouldn’t cheat on you and he left. Nothing else happened though.”
His jaw hardens with anger. “The other day? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.
“A couple days ago and I had every intention of telling you. Honestly,” I add, when he gives me a doubtful glance before stalking away from me. “We were just having such a nice night, I didn’t want to ruin it, and I knew if I said anyt
hing that it would. It was the first time in a couple weeks that things weren’t awkward, so I decided to just enjoy it. It was wrong and I’m sorry, but I really did plan on telling you this evening at dinner.” Once he reaches the windows on the far wall, he turns back to me.
“Am I supposed to thank you for that? Thank you for not fucking him, especially when you wanted to? Thank you for only kissing him? Forgive me, chèrie, if I’m not so willing to shower you with gratitude,” he bites out. I let him. He’s angry and hurt, and that’s the only reason he’s speaking to me like he is. Any other day, I wouldn’t stand for it, but I let him lash out. It doesn’t last long.
With thumb and forefinger, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m angry but that’s no excuse to speak to you like that.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I was stupid to think that I could just get over him. I truly did believe it though, Joaquin. I would never have started anything with you if I didn’t truly and honestly believe it.”
“What happened then, chèrie?” His voice is soft, his accent heavy.
“He came back.” I shrug. “I was okay, not great, when he wasn’t present. When he wasn’t here, in my face, reminding me of everything we shared, all we used to be, I was able to get through my day without all of the memories. But now with him here, I can’t ignore them,” I confess.
“So just like that you’re going to go back to him after everything?” There’s disappointment dripping from every word.
Shaking my head, I try to clear my throat of the tears. “No. I don’t know. I just know that the way I feel isn’t fair to you. I feel like I’m in limbo with him here, and I can’t, won’t, do that to you.” I swipe at the tears on my face. The ones rapidly following and spilling onto my shirt, a lost cause. If only they could cleanse me of the pain I feel right now. “If it weren’t for him, I could fall in love with you and we could be happy. I’m sure we could be. I care for you so much it kills me to let you go.” My voice cracks on the emotions choking me.