Everything will start in Gallup at the same bar where I was discovered. My hometown, with my friends and family. With the people that I love most in the world. Inhaling a deep breath, I pick the pen up off of the table and begin to scrawl my name.
Once the documents are signed and all of the sharks have left the office, I lean back in my chair with a heavy sigh.
“It’ll be good, Beaumont, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to find a meeting. Luckily, those are everywhere,” my attorney announces as he stands.
I watch him leave the room as well, taking my phone out of my pocket. I think about all of the people that were just in this room, people who all discouraged me from going into rehab and from talking about it publicly. They’ve changed their tune now that they can profit from my need.
My text messages are still unread. Six months later, dozens of messages from the men that I consider brothers.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I type out a response, then copy and paste it to each of them.
COMING BACK IN A COUPLE DAYS. MEET AT MY PLACE. TEXT YOU WHEN I GET TO TOWN.
I shove my phone back in my pocket as I stand to my feet. I need to get out of here. I feel like I’m suffocating. Leaving the office building, I jog over to my car. It’s a 1971 Hemi Cuda, convertible. I bought it at an auction last year and have been in love with it since.
In Texas, I have a pickup truck, but here I’m all about the classic convertible to drive down the Pacific Coast Highway. Lowering the top, I start the engine, enjoying the roar that fills the air around me. There’s just something about the sound of a tuned-up muscle car that turns me the fuck on.
Speeding away from the office buildings and bumper-to-bumper traffic, I head toward the beach. If I can’t go to endless trees and land like my place in Texas, then this is my second favorite spot, the beach.
When I arrive, I stay in my car, parking it facing the water and I watch. I could go to my house and see the waves roll in and out from my deck, but sitting in a car, it’s different. My phone rings and I shake my head, looking down at the caller ID.
I’m not surprised that it’s one of my friends, but I expected it to be Louis, instead, it’s Rylan.
Rylan’s a nice guy, was a mess for years, but then again, I have been too. I just had the money to hide it and not get caught.
“Hello?” I greet, answering it on the third ring.
“How are you?” he asks.
I pause, unsure of how to answer that. Then I remember that me and Rylan are a lot alike, we’re both addicts trying to live clean lives. We’re both trying to be better people.
“Struggling,” I admit.
“Talk to me,” he demands.
His tone is harsh, but I know that he wants to help me. He’s calling as a friend, as someone who has been in my situation. Granted, our circumstances are vastly different, but me and Rylan aren’t so different on the inside. We’re both addicts and will be until the day that we die.
“My team has scheduled a tour. I don’t know if I’m ready. I want to drown myself,” I freely admit.
Rylan clears his throat, I hear a baby in the background and smile thinking about his new son. I haven’t seen him in person yet, but mixed in with the text messages about being supportive friends, there were some pictures of the new guy.
“You just have to stay aware of how you’re feeling, Beaumont. If you have a moment where you’re struggling, call me, call your sponsor, go to a meeting,” he encourages.
I let out a heavy sigh. “The first stop is Gallup, but it’s a big secret. I’ll be taking off in about a week. I’m going to spend a couple weeks relaxing after the show. I think I need the breather before the insanity of touring begins.”
“That sounds like a good idea, honestly, you should take longer.”
“I know.”
He’s quiet and I stare at the ocean wondering if I’m fucking myself up even more than I already have. Rylan clears his throat before he speaks.
“You are aware. You want to change. You want to be better and I think that you will succeed,” he offers.
Shaking my head, I pinch my eyes closed. “I feel like nothing but a fraud. All I’ve ever done is lie and pretend. I’m great at faking everything about myself. My happiness, my sobriety, everything.”
“Most of us are, Beaumont. You just have a bigger fuckin’ audience.”
Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the end of the strands. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out with a heavy exhale. Rylan makes a humming noise before he speaks again.
“Be real, Beaumont. Show the world your true self, you have no reason to hide anymore.”
“What if I lose everything? What if I lose my entire career? What if everyone sees me for the fraud that I am?”
“What if you’re even more successful than you are now? You’re talented as fuck. Don’t keep yourself in the box you’ve been shoved inside of. You never were when you were hitting the bars around here, don’t do it now.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “How in the fuck did you get so goddamn smart?” I ask on a chuckle.
“Five years in the joint will make you real fuckin’ smart, or you die.” He laughs. “Maybe it’s fatherhood though, or Channing, fuck if I know. I’m just glad I’m not the same dumb fuck that I was six years ago and you shouldn’t be the same man you were then either.”
His words slam into me, my gut clenches. He’s right. Fuck.
“Thanks, and Rylan?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy as fuck about your new son, can’t wait to meet him.”
He thanks me and we end the call. I feel lighter, less stressed and ready to take on the tour. Maybe not the world, but at least the tour. I also decide that I’m going to try and work on some new music while we travel, since I can’t get blind drunk anymore, maybe my creativity will flow.
Starting my Cuda, I grin as it roars to life. Backing out of the parking spot, I head in the opposite direction of my home. I go somewhere that I know I shouldn’t. She isn’t bad for my sobriety, but she’s bad for me in general, though aren’t all women?
Just the mention of her name the other day has had me thinking about her. She’s an itch that I can’t seem to satisfactorily scratch. It always itches a little in the background, or at least that’s how it feels. Maybe it’s all a mind game though, I don’t doubt it.
Her small bungalow comes into view and I immediately pull up to the curb. Grabbing a ballcap from my glovebox, I tug it on and down, covering as much of myself as possible. Keeping my aviator sunglasses on, I exit the car and dip my chin as I walk up to the front door.
Lifting my hand, I don’t even have to knock. She opens the door with a small smile playing on her lips.
“I didn’t expect to see you darken my door today,” she purrs.
I shrug one shoulder as I slip past her. She closes the door behind me as I tug off my hat and glasses, tossing them onto the side table next to her couch. Turning around, I look at her. I shouldn’t be here and she sure as shit shouldn’t have answered the door.
But I am.
She did.
Now she’s naked, standing in front of the closed and locked door. Taking a step toward her, closing the distance between us, I reach down, wrapping my hands around the backs of her thighs. Picking her up, I press her back against the door.