23. Johnny

Every morning for the next ten weekdays, I'm picked up by an official van and taken to the hospital to attend a group session for a few hours. Every other afternoon, I attend a therapy session with Christian. Sometimes Kurt comes with me to those, sometimes he doesn't.

The violins are still making a racket in my mind. Sometimes I wonder where Kurt put the gun. I've stared too long at some railroad tracks, and every time I'm on the road I wonder what would happen if we just … veered into oncoming traffic and got it all over with.

Focusing on my brain is hard work, and some days I feel like I've been beaten with a meat tenderizer by the time I'm done. But I told Christian and Kurt that I made the decision to get better. Some days it feels like that promise is the only thing that motivates me to get off the couch.

Staying fit helps with my mental state. There's a gym at Kurt's condo complex, and he comes with me to work out. He complains, but in a cute way. He complains even worse when I make him join me for a run … but he comes anyway. Makes me all soft and sweet on him.

Kurt took time off from his job to be with me, but he's still busy working on his campaign. He has a million meetings and is always going to fundraising dinners, taking phone calls, reviewing numbers and charts. He asked me how much I wanna participate in his public life, but we agreed that for now, he should do the campaign stuff alone. I'm far from being healthy enough to be out in the public eye. Better for both of us if I keep focusing on my recovery.

I wish I could help out with the campaign, because I do like being with him. I know our marriage is mostly about him not wanting to blow up his political chances even more—and putting me on his insurance, because he's too generous—but if I had my druthers, it would be more than that. I want him to be mine.

It's too bad that I'm such a damn mess.

If things were different, if I were worthy of him, I'd want to be with him for real. But he's already done too much for me. I'm keeping track of every single penny he spends on me, but I don't know how I'll ever repay him.

I know the political stuff's getting him down. He's always looking at his phone and cussing. It's clear he ain't doing as well as he wishes—because of me—but I dunno any way to help him. I figure the only thing I can do right now is get better. I'm doing that as much for him as I am for myself.

Since I'm still having suicidal thoughts—and Kurt asks me about them all the time—he's set up a babysitting system of sorts for when I'm at home and he's out. He didn't call it that or tell me he was doing it, but that's what it is. He makes sure there's always someone around. It pissed me off when I first figured it out, but now I think it's cute. How can I not be charmed that he's keeping watch over me? Some days he'll send over our neighbor or their kid. Or Paige, his campaign manager—I bugged her for tips on how to help him. His assistant, Wendy, or his housekeeper, Galen.

Today, it seems my babysitter's Julian Hill, the biggest pop star in the world. I'll admit to being a wee bit starstruck, even though I don't listen to his music.

He saunters into Kurt's condo wearing tight, ripped gray jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He's lean and tall, with tattoos everywhere. His hair's an artful mess, and his face is impish and gentle. "Hey," he says with a grin, holding out his hand. I shake it, my mouth dry. "I'm Jules."

I nod. "Johnny. Nice to meet you."

"I'm a fan," he says. Why, of everyone who has ever seen my videos, it takes Julian Hill to make me blush, I have no idea. Maybe because of his fancy British accent—it makes him seem snooty, even though he's clearly not.

"Thank you kindly," I manage to get out. "I havta be honest with you: I only listen to country, so I ain't sure what songs you sing. My sister might've listened to you, though, when we were growin' up."

Jules laughs. "That's refreshing, actually. Then we don't have to talk about music or any of that bollocks. What would you like to chat about instead? Tell me: What's your favorite thing on earth?"

Kurt.

"Besides my mama and sister?" I ask.

He nods.

"Dogs," I say. "And horses."

"Dogs are the best," he agrees, and he becomes my favorite pop star, even though I couldn't tell you one song he sings. "If you were to get a dog, what kind would you get?"

"Well, I like all dogs, but you can't go wrong with a goldie. Or a German shepherd. They're so smart and loyal."

"Agreed. I've always wanted to adopt a retired greyhound. They're sleek, and I figure that they could use some love after being forced to race."

"Ain't that the truth." I walk into the kitchen, and he follows me. "Want something to drink, since you're forced to be here?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say forced. I'm happy to do it. And I'd love a cuppa." It takes me a moment to figure out he's talking about tea. He helps me make him a "proper" mug.

I end up talking with Julian Hill for two hours about all the dogs we've ever wanted to own.

When Kurt gets home from the Rotary Club meeting, Jules and I are sitting on the balcony, watching the waves and the surfers. We go inside and chat with Kurt for a moment, and then Jules hugs us before being whisked off by his driver.

"How'd'ja get Julian Hill to babysit me?" I ask once we're alone.

Kurt shrugs out of his jacket and slips off his tie, setting them on a dining chair. "It's not babysitting. More … just making sure you've got company and are okay. I asked Sam if he could do it, and he volunteered Jules."

"It was nice of him, if unexpected."

"People care about you." That statement makes me want to squirm, but Kurt leans over and kisses me. "As they should."

"Yeah, maybe," is the most I can get out.

"Are you tired of people asking you how you are?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. Or … maybe yes, but it's still a valid question. My mood is all over the place. Sometimes I'm feeling pretty good, and other times I'm wondering where you put the keys to the locked cabinet."

Kurt winces. "It's still that bad?"

"We agreed to be honest. It's not like going to the hospital was magic. It stabilized me, sure. Kept me from getting worse, definitely. But getting back to normal, or something like that?" I bite my lip. "That's gonna take a while."

"Then I'll be patient."

We move to the couch on the balcony and settle down to watch the waves. Kurt puts his head on my shoulder. I love that. I love his warmth next to me on this cool evening. And I'm trying to be aware of these moments of happiness and pleasure so I can remember them when things aren't as good.

"You know, even if there's no magic cure, I'm still proud of you for going," he says. "And grateful, honestly. I wasn't there in time for Andrei, and seventeen years later, I'm still fucked up about it." He pauses, then adds, "Sometimes, now, I have these nightmares where it's his bloody body, but your face."

That makes my gut clench, but I don't know what I can say. "I'm so sorry y'all went through that."

"I keep thinking, if I'd been a better friend, a better boyfriend, would it have been different? Did I make things unbearable for him? What was wrong with me that I couldn't stop him?"

"Even though I wasn't there, I can guarantee there was nothing you could've done. If someone wants to do that to themselves, they can't be stopped."

"I stopped you."

"You did, but I also let you. And honestly, I still wake up every morning questioning whether I want to go through with it."

Kurt turns to me with pain in his eyes. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Now, see? That there ain't your fault. It's some chemistry in my brain that's making me feel that way. The meds haven't all kicked in yet. I have hope, but if I get too far ahead of myself, I spin out. The only thing I can do is bring it down to this moment. Today. Do I want to live for today? Maybe, maybe not. But I promised Kurt I would, so I do."

"I knew this was hard, but I hadn't realized how hard," he says, squeezing my hand.

"Sometimes it's really damn hard, darlin'." I stroke the top of his head and then kiss it. "Andrei's suicide wasn't on you. That, I know for sure."

"How do you know?" Kurt asks quietly.

"Because I know you. You're kind and loving. Look at the care you take of me, and I'm next to being a stranger. Even if you were a punk kid—which I don't think you were—you didn't want your boyfriend to die. Y'all couldn't have stopped him if he was that determined."

Kurt tilts his head up at me. "That's what my therapist keeps saying."

I chuckle. "I know for a fact that sometimes things need to be repeated many, many times before they can settle in. Speaking from someone deep in the thick of it, his death was not your fault. Period."

He sighs and cuddles into me. We don't move for a long time, and I look at him to make sure he's not upset or nothin'. But he ain't. He's just staring out at the beach.

This couch has big cushions, and there's a chaise lounge at the end of it. I shift us over so I'm spooning him and he's looking out through the glass, our heads on a pillow. I pull a blanket over us.

"Can I tell you something?" I whisper, holding him close, my lips against the back of his neck, my whole body aligned with his.

"Of course," he murmurs.

"Sometimes I need this more than I need to fuck."

Kurt shudders against me. Then he turns around and slots a leg between mine, his arms around me, his head on my chest. He rearranges the blanket so it's still covering us. "Sometimes I do, too."

After my outpatient care is done and I feel okay enough to try my hand at working, I start up Kurt's Volvo one morning and drive to his friend's house in Hidden Valley. I'm as out of place as an armadillo at prom, because everything's so, so expensive. Despite being close to Los Angeles, the area's rural, with acres of pretty, fenced-in fields, oak trees, and a quiet sense of seclusion. Oh, and the houses are huge, with big barns and proper riding facilities.

It's the first time that Kurt's trusted me on my own, but I promised him I'd stay alive. And I'm feeling more and more like I don't want to kill myself. The violins have longer and longer periods of silence.

Mostly I'm just … blank. Numb. I'm not sad, but I'm not happy either. I think the meds keep me from getting too deep, but I'm never unicorns and rainbows either. I'm still battling painful, intrusive thoughts.

I pull up the long driveway where the GPS tells me, and I almost turn around and head back to Kurt's place. No way can I work here. It's not for someone like me. It's too … polished.

But then a wiry woman comes out of the barn, flanked by two dogs. She's got long, dark red hair plaited into one braid down her back and is wearing a western shirt and old boots. She looks like she's tough as nails and knows what she's doing. At her heels are two border collies, full of mischief. Then I see the horses in the corral, and I draw in a breath. They're utterly gorgeous. Stunning American Quarter Horses with glossy coats and a healthy look about them. They're well cared for.

I let out a sigh of relief. I might have issues with people, but animals are animals, and I know how to deal with them. Okay. I can do this.

Getting out of the car, I step over to the woman and tip my hat. "Howdy," I say. "I'm Johnny Haskell. I'm looking for Bronwyn?"

"That's me," she says. "Welcome. You good with mucking out stables?"

Despite my generally down mood, I chuckle. Because this isn't a hazing question. Mucking stables is an essential part of caring for horses. "Sure. Just set me to work. Mind if I pet the dogs?"

"Go ahead." Bronwyn gestures to the dogs. "The bigger one is Maggie, and the smaller one is Sally."

"Hello, Maggie," I say, squatting down so I can scritch behind her dark, fluffy ears. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"

She licks me, and I say hello to Sally, too, who's also a good girl. The dogs hop all over me and lick my face, and it makes me smile more.

The smile's starting to get less creaky.

I glance up, and Bronwyn nods. "You'll do."

"How's that?" I ask.

"You gotta get along with animals around here, and you take to those dogs like you're one of them."

Standing, I hook a thumb in my belt loop. "I may be part dog, that's correct. Can I meet the horses?"

"Follow me."

With the dogs at our sides, we walk over to the first horse, who's shiny in the sun. The scent of hay and horse manure is all around us, but to me that's as natural as salt in the sea.

"This is Stacy," Bronwyn says. "She's four. Her sister Betty Lou is in the stables. I took Stacy out this morning for a trail ride, and she's had some cooldown time. We'll need to groom her, then Betty Lou needs some exercise, too. I'll take her out, and you can muck."

I nod. "Sounds good to me. How many horses do the owners have?"

"Eight, plus they also board a few for other people, so there's usually ten or twelve here at a time. Sometimes more. I'm full-time, plus there are some other part-timers. But we can always use more help. Let's go meet Pepper, Jan, and Lucky."

I get introduced to all the horses, and Bronwyn gives me a rundown of their personalities and special needs or quirks. For some reason, it's easy for me to remember things like this—their names, their needs. While I pull out my phone to take a few notes, I know I won't need to refer to them. Bronwyn hands me a clipboard, and I fill out some tax forms, needing to look up my address on the phone. But I get it done.

We stop by the tack room, and Bronwyn shows me where the food and other supplies are. Then she puts a lead on Betty Lou and asks me to muck out the stables while they're gone.

Fine by me. I grab gloves, a broad shovel, and a wheelbarrow and get to work. It's a cool day, but I work up a sweat, and … I don't know. Being out in the fresh air and sunshine, working around these big, gorgeous animals with dogs at my side, makes me feel centered. Even though we're not that far from the traffic of Los Angeles, it's quiet here. It feels like a different world. One where I could actually be happy. I understand why people pay so much money to live here. It's my idea of heaven.

The hours pass quickly, and I can look back and see what I've accomplished: neat stalls that are clean, with everything stocked up for later. The horses are all groomed and fed, and I feel productive in a way I ain't felt in a really long time.

Back when I was working on a set, I could tell when we were getting footage that was going to work, and I could often predict when it'd be a video that would take off and be popular. But things didn't always go right, and sometimes at the end of the day, I'd go home sore and not feeling like I did much.

Here, though, there's no question about what I did, from getting the trail dust off a horse to making sure everything's tidy and in good repair. Taking care of horses is the work that feeds my soul. I haven't done it since my early teens, but I love it.

Kurt figured that out about me, and like a present, he gave it to me. I really like that man.