13. Thirteen

The best thing for Church was rest and fluids, but I kept an eye on him. By mid-afternoon, most of the red marks on his skin had faded, and he seemed to be feeling well enough to tell me off. In the most posh way possible, he demanded I leave his side long enough for him to have some privacy because I was "driving him bloody bonkers."

I opened his drawer and tossed him the vibrator on my way out with a wink. "Don't think of England this time, kitten. Think of me."

The thump on the closed door behind me wasn't him throwing the vibrator at me. It couldn't be. That thing was way too expensive to aim at my beautiful face.

With nothing left to do, I found myself back upstairs playing tunes for Oscar to pass the time. He sat on the bed next to me, swaying as I played Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" before switching over to my acoustic guitar to play Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". Apparently, Oscar knew the words to the chorus of that well enough that he decided to sing along.

After the song was over, I elbowed him and said, "You've got a pretty decent voice. You ever think of singing?"

"I used to want to be a musician, but…" He shrugged.

"A musician? What' d you play?"

"Guitar," he said, and then quickly added. "But I'm nowhere near as good as you."

"Really? That's awesome, man." I bumped his shoulder lightly with a fist. "Hey, you wouldn't want to jam a little, would you?"

Oscar's eyes widened. "What? Me? Really?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know." He fidgeted with his fingers and lowered his head. "I'm really out of practice."

"Fuck that. You don't have to be perfect to enjoy playing." I got up and went to grab two of my guitars, bringing one over to him.

The way his face lit up, you'd think I'd just handed him a love letter. He looked up at me, eyes wide, mouth agape. "I…I can't."

"I insist." I pushed the old guitar into his hands and sat down across from him with the other. "Play me something."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Come on, man. Anything. I don't even care what."

"Okay, okay. I do remember one song. But I can't guarantee it'll be any good." Oscar blew out a breath and moved his fingers up the string. The next thing I knew, he was playing the opening riff to "Sweet Child ‘o' Mine".

I shifted my guitar, coming in to play the harmony. "Keep going!"

He smiled, nodded, and we kept on playing. He wasn't the greatest, but it was a simple song, one of the first I'd learned to play, and he kept up with me, even when I started singing. That was more than could be said for a lot of amateur guitarists. When we hit the solo after the second verse, I let him have it and he played right through to the end.

"Shit, man. You're pretty good," I said once we'd finished playing.

He flushed. "Oh, stop."

"Nah, I mean it. You ever think of playing professionally? "

Oscar shrugged. "Nah. I just dabble. You should hear my friend. He's in a real band. Actually, they're playing tomorrow night at Tappy's. That's why I took tomorrow off."

"Tappy's?"

"Yeah, it's an old biker bar just outside of McArthur. Not your scene, but they play there pretty regularly."

I frowned and looked away. Tappy's was exactly the type of place where I'd gotten my start. Just hearing about it brought back memories of playing in smokey, crowded rooms that smelled like stale beer and worn leather. A secondhand guitar on my lap and the refurbished amp I'd borrowed from my uncle, just jamming for a crowd of twenty. End of the night, I'd walk away with two hundred bucks and think I was the king of the world. Dive bars were a second home to me, and there was a part of me that missed that.

"He'd die of jealousy if he knew I was here playing with you instead of him," Oscar continued, talking about his friend. His eyes widened, and he shifted to the edge of his seat again. "Hey, we should go see him play!"

I set my guitar aside, shaking my head. "Can't."

"I forgot about the fun police downstairs." He rolled his eyes. "But if he's sick, he probably won't even notice, right?"

"It's not serious, thank God. He'll be better by tomorrow." I hope .

"Oh." Oscar's excitement disappeared, and he looked away.

"Church means well. You can't really blame him. He's just doing his job."

"Is it his job to crush your creativity? I hear you up here every day playing the same few bars, pacing, and cussing. You're trying to work on something new, right? And you're stuck?"

I sighed and nodded. "Creative block. "

He shrugged again. "Maybe hearing someone else play will inspire you."

"That's just it. I want to, but I can't , Oscar." I paced to the other side of the room. "And not just because of Church. I'm supposed to be out of the public eye for thirty days and someone there would recognize me for sure."

"Not if you put on a ball cap and some sunglasses," he said. "Then you'll look like everybody else. Nobody'll be looking for you. Trust me."

I shook my head again. "Even if that were true, I can't just walk out. Church would flip."

"So sneak out." He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You could go out the window. There's a little gravel service road about fifty yards in that direction that goes out to the pond. I could pick you up. All you have to do is tell him you're going to bed early and don't want to be bothered. It worked all the time with my dad when I was seventeen and had to sneak out, and trust me, he was every bit as paranoid as your guard dog."

I chewed on my lip. This was a bad idea, and not just because Church would be pissed. If I got caught, he'd tell Sam, who'd tell the label execs and they might give up on me. I could get kicked out of After Atom. Never mind the fact that his friend was playing in a bar and I was a recovering alcoholic. I'd only been sober for twelve days. Everyone would tell me it was too soon for me to face temptation.

But they didn't know me. I could sit in a bar and not drink. I knew I could. As for the other part of the equation, that was only a problem if I got caught . Even if Church did find out, I was pretty sure I could smooth things over with him and keep him from ratting me out if I was careful .

"At least think it over." He strummed the strings and then started playing another song.

I arched an eyebrow. "‘Wonderwall?' Really"

He chuckled. "It's the only other song I know how to play all the way through."

I sighed and came back over, gesturing for him to hand me the other guitar. "Nah, I'd rather drown in a well than hear that or 'Stairway to Heaven' ever again."

I sat down next to him and started to play a random riff that quickly turned into the song I'd been working on for weeks because I couldn't get the damn thing out of my head. It was like the tune was haunting me, but I couldn't quite get the lyrics right.

Maybe it was because I was sober. Everything was easier when I was high or drinking because it made it more difficult to overthink it. Without drugs or alcohol to lean on, it was just me and my own mind, and the pressure from the outside to get this one right. I wasn't After Atom's primary songwriter, but we were all supposed to be working on something to bring to the next album. Remi, Gabe, and Jake all had their songs finalized, and I hadn't even written mine.

Oscar scooted closer, and I was suddenly acutely aware of where his knee was touching mine. I wanted to move away, but I didn't want him to get upset and think I didn't like him. I just wasn't interested in being more than acquaintances.

Maybe he doesn't realize.

That thought went out the window when he put his head on my shoulder. He definitely didn't do that by accident.

I stopped playing and looked over at him. "Are you okay?"

He looked up at me and nodded. I stared at him, hoping he'd get the hint and back off, but he must've misinterpreted my intent because the next thing I knew, he had his hand behind my head and had locked lips with me.

I shoved him back. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over the guitar. "I just thought… I thought…" He lowered his head, tears welling in his eyes.

Shit. That was exactly what I didn't want to happen.

"Hey, Oscar…"

"I'm sorry," he said again and practically ran for the ladder.

"Wait!"

I jumped up, blocking his path at the last second. He bumped right into me and almost fell. I reached to steady him but stopped, worried he might misinterpret that too.

I dropped my hands to my side with a sigh. "It's not that I don't like you, okay? You seem like a great guy. It's just… Look, I'm only here for a couple of weeks. I can't get involved. You understand." I was trying to let the guy down as gently as possible, but it clearly still hurt.

Oscar pushed up his glasses and shrank back, gripping one arm. "I understand."

Fuck, Dante. Do something. Make him feel better. Prove you're not an asshole. "Hey, that doesn't mean we can't hang out." I elbowed him gently. "You still want me to come see your friend's band play at Tappy's tomorrow?"

He lifted big, wet eyes from the floor. "But you said you couldn't."

I shrugged. "Church might be my bodyguard, but he's not my boss, Oscar. If he wants to stop me, he's literally going to have to tie me to a post. I'll be there. If you still want me to go with you, that is."

He offered a weak smile and nodded.

I smiled back. "Great. Is seven too late to meet?"

"No. The show goes until midnight."

"Perfect." I patted his back and walked him slowly to the ladder so he didn't get the impression I was rushing him out. "And you can introduce me to your friend afterward. We'll jam together. How's that sound?"

Oscar's smile finally bloomed. "Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow night."

I didn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned in my bed, worried about the next day. Had I made the right call with Oscar? Probably not, but what was I supposed to do? I wasn't good at saying no, especially to fans. I wanted people to like me, not think I was some sort of self-absorbed asshole. That's part of how I got into drugs in the first place. The pills helped loosen me up, made it easier to have fun and laugh.

I got up three times in the night to go check on Church, but he insisted he was fine. He accepted the water I brought him every time, but otherwise didn't seem interested in anything other than catching up on his sleep. Understandable, given the circumstances.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of the tea kettle and smiled, knowing it meant someone had delivered Church's Wattson-approved tea and he was feeling well enough to make it for himself.

But my smile fell when I remembered the plans I'd made with Oscar for that evening. If I followed through, I'd have to lie to Church, and that was arguably worse than lying to Oscar. No matter what I did now, I was going to have to let someone down, and I felt like shit about it .

I spent the rest of the afternoon and all the next day pacing around, waiting for Church to find out and come yell at me. He never did. Why would he? Unless Oscar ratted me out, which I didn't think he'd do, Church had no way of knowing what I had planned.

Maybe I shouldn't go . I glanced over at the clock. Less than two hours to decide. If I didn't show up, it'd crush Oscar, but if I did, so much could go wrong.

I heard Church opening the fridge downstairs and thought he might be getting ready to make dinner.

I should tell him. He'd know what to do.

I sat up from the bed and started down the stairs.

"No, Mum. I told you it's not like that."

I paused with my hand gripping the wooden railing. It sounded like Church was on the phone, and with his mother. The one he refused to talk to me about. If I walked into the kitchen, he'd probably hang up. It wasn't right for me to listen into his side of the conversation, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I sank onto the stairs, straining to hear.

"You know he doesn't want to talk to me." Long pause. "So let me see if I understand. Because he's rich and famous, it's totally acceptable that he's not straight? Yes, let's forget about the hookers and that he's a drunk and the fact that I'm not bloody interested! How could I be? He's disgusting, Mum! I'm ashamed to have ever associated with him, and if I never have to see him again, it'll be too soon."

My heartbeat throbbed in my ears, blocking out the rest. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was one thing not to like me, but for him to say all that about me…and to his mother . We'd been flirting yesterday and today I was disgusting ?

I couldn' t breathe.

I stumbled up the stairs and yanked open my top drawer, sifting through it in search of my wallet. An angry tear slipped down my cheek as I pulled my shirt over my head. I used it to mop up my face. Screw him. I should've known better than to think he gave a damn about me. I was just another job to him. Of course I was. What else was I supposed to be? It was my own damn fault. I'd mistakenly thought that because he didn't care about music, maybe he could care about me .

I pulled on a plain white tank and grabbed my leather jacket. There was a red ball cap at the bottom of my bag. I put my hair up and tugged it on before adding the sunglasses. When I looked in the mirror, I could almost pass as human and not some washed-up addict hiding out in the woods.

That's exactly what I am . I swallowed the bile coating my tongue and went to the window. At least now I don't have to pretend to be anything else.

Tappy's was crowded, badly lit, and the acoustics were shit. The stage consisted of a couple of two-by-fours held together with dreams and wood glue. Pool balls clacked together in an unsteady beat and waitresses in Daisy Dukes and t-shirts two sizes too small served bad beer to patrons in patched leather vests.

It was exactly the kind of place I used to play, and that made it easier to slip into old habits. When Oscar came back from the bar with two beers, I didn't even hesitate. I took it and drank, part of me half-expecting someone to stop me. When no one did, it felt like confirmation. I was in control. I didn't need Sam, or Remi, or Church telling me what I could and couldn't handle. One drink wasn't a problem, so maybe I wasn't the problem.

"So…" Oscar tapped his fingers on his glass. "What do you think?"

I glanced toward the stage and shrugged. "Not bad."

He grinned. "I told you, right? They're no After Atom, but who is, right?" He gave my shoulder a light punch.

I rubbed the spot. "Right." An uneasy feeling churned in my stomach. I lifted the glass and drowned it in cheap beer.

"Hey, listen," Oscar started, "about yesterday…"

"Water under the bridge," I replied and put down the empty glass.

"I don't want you to think I'm some kind of creep or anything, Dante. I shouldn't have done that. But…I really do like you."

I turned the empty glass in circles. "Oscar…"

"Just hear me out." Oscar's hand came down over mine. "Give me a chance. I mean, I know you're not dating anyone else."

I frowned and pulled my hand away. "Who says?"

"I looked online. Plus, even if you are dating someone, you don't really love them. That's why you're stuck on this song. You need a new muse. I can be that for you."

I leaned away from him with a frown. This was veering too far into creepy territory for me and I needed to shut it down before it got out of hand. "I think you've gotten the wrong idea, Oscar."

Something dark flashed in his eyes and he clenched his jaw. "I'm not good enough for you? Is that it?"

"What? No, I didn't say that."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Don't say no," he whispered. "Not yet. Just give me a chance to show you. You mean everything to me, Dante. Is it because I'm just a housekeeper? That's only a temp job. I'll quit if you want me to. "

"No, Oscar, I—"

"And I don't own much. I can sell my stuff and move to LA. It's not a problem. I'd do it for you." He put his hand over mine again and gave me a pleading look. "I'd do anything for you."

I chewed on my bottom lip and glanced past him to the exit. I needed to get the hell out of there, but how? He was my ride, and it was too far to walk back to the cabin, even if I knew where it was. I needed to call Church. He'd be pissed, but at least he'd get me out of there.

I swallowed the fear blocking my throat and forced myself to smile. "How about we start with another beer?"