15. Waylon

Chapter Fifteen

WAYLON

" T he parking lot looks pretty full," Justin says, neither of us getting out of the car.

"It's a Friday night in a small town. I don't think there's much else to do," I reason, but it does look pretty full. I was careful when I set this up, but there's been a lot of talk about where Justin will show up next. And it's only been three weeks since his last performance.

People are still on high alert.

But I could feel how eager he was to perform again, and damn it, I want this for him. I really do. I want him to be able to play a small venue and not have to worry about it becoming a huge deal.

But I think we both know it won't last too long.

"What do you want to do?" I ask because it's up to him. He says play, he'll play. He says leave, we'll leave.

He takes a deep breath. "Let's go."

I nod and follow him out of the car. He grabs his guitar, and we walk inside. It's packed, but no on looks our way when we walk through the door except for a nice woman behind the bar.

She greets us, and I introduce myself and Justin before she guides us to the spot for him to set up. It's all extremely low-key and simple, and I settle in at the bar while Justin sets up.

I feel relieved when I hear the first strum of his guitar, his honey-soaked voice singing out into the crowd. Some are fascinated by him—it's honestly impossible not to be—but a lot are just going on about their time.

I keep my eyes on everyone and my phone as I catch up with Jenny and Dalton, while listening to Justin's sweet music in the background.

My phone rings, and I answer it when I see Jenny's name pop up. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, I see your boy is playing again."

I look around and see a couple of cellphones out. "They have the location already?"

"Yup," she says knowingly, but since I haven't seen anyone come through the doors, I give Justin some time up there.

"It's getting harder and harder to find a good place to go."

"You know soon it's not going to matter where you choose, right?" She doesn't say it condescendingly, but I know she wants to say more. "Come home," she settles on, and I grin.

"Aw, do you miss me?"

"Nope," she says lightly, and I can hear her smiling. "Just want you to come get your little demon furball."

I laugh. "Be nice. I'll be home soon."

She's quiet for a moment. "Are you sure about that? I get that you have some unfinished business with Justin, but you have nothing to prove. This whole hiding from fame thing really isn't your problem."

I glance at Justin, watching the serene look of peace on his face. "Yeah. It kind of is. I need to see this through."

"He's never going to be happy, Waylon. You don't get to pick and choose with fame. We don't get to make that happen. It just happens."

She's not telling me anything I don't already know, but it irks me all the same. "I have to try, Jenny. He deserves to share his music without being mobbed by fans."

"You're getting soft on me," she says, and I can hear the fond smile over her words.

"Maybe," I admit. I don't know if I'd let any other clients get away with this. Okay, I know I wouldn't, but Justin has always been different.

"Call me soon," she says before hanging up. I watch Justin a little longer before I signal it's time to go. He swiftly follows me out of the bar, putting his guitar in the back before I take off. There are lots of cars coming in as we're going out.

"You don't miss the big crowds at all?" I ask him carefully.

He looks absently out the window. "Sometimes. But I don't miss the after part. I don't know."

He sounds lost, and I hate it. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten so soft with him. I drive for a few hours, silence taking over the car. I start toward the hotel I'd planned to go to, the town is fairly small, but the hotel looked nice.

It's late. After midnight. And when I see a ball field, lit up only by the night sky and the moon, I detour and park near the dugout.

Justin looks over at me, and I can feel the question before we even get out. "What are we doing here?"

"Grab your guitar," I say, not answering and climbing out of the car. He follows me, although cautiously looking around.

No one is here. It's completely serene and beautifully empty. I can hear crickets, but that's the only sound. It's a warm night, and I head right through the gate, toward the green of the ball field.

"What are we doing?" he asks, following me. I sit down on the grass and pat the spot next to me.

"Whatever we want," I finally answer him, and he sits down, placing his guitar case next to him protectively. "Get your guitar out."

His eyes sweep around again, and he looks at me in question but finally does what I ask, placing it on his lap, cradling it to his chest.

"Play," I say simply, looking around. "No one is here. No one can see us. You're just playing for me."

He still looks uncertain. "You sure we aren't going to get arrested?"

I laugh at that and shake my head. "You need to let go more, Justin. You want to be free? Here's your chance. The town is asleep, and we're on the outskirts. No one is here, and no one is coming."

I watch as he nervously licks his lips, but then his fingers start to slowly strum away, playing one of his newer songs I recognize instantly. It's about love. But it's also about life in general. About going after what you want.

It's beautiful. He sings softly as he plays the haunting notes. I can't stop watching him, and when his eyes close, his fingers still stroking over the guitar strings, his voice floating out of him, that's when I see it.

The serenity of it all. Of him finally getting lost in the music he loves so damn much.

I lean into him, my lips pressing softly against his neck, and he never falters. Never misses a note. "You can go here anytime. When it becomes too much, no one can take this away. It's about the music for you."

He keeps playing, but he stops singing, his eyes opening and meeting mine. "It is."

"I know," I say with certainty because some of my artists, they love the music, but it's a means to an end. A way to fame. It's not that way for Justin. His musical gift sometimes feels like a curse to him.

"I think you need to find a way to perform for large crowds again."

"That's not what I want," he says stubbornly.

"You sure about that?" I challenge and continue, "Because this isn't sustainable, and we both know it."

"You're being a dick," he says annoyed, and I hate it, but he needs to hear this.

"I'm not. Listen to me," I say softly against his lips, kneeling in front of him now. "I've seen you play for thousands, and I've seen you play for hundreds. For tens. And just for me."

"So?" he bites out.

"So every time, it's the same. There's a moment where you let go, and it's just you and your guitar. You want these songs out there for the world, and they should be. You want to write what you want, and you should. But you love this part too. The live playing."

"So I can do it at bars."

"You really think it's enough?" I have to ask because I know deep inside, he's meant for this. And the going from small town to small town, the hiding, it's going to whittle him down to nothing. To being bitter and angry again.

"What do you want from me?" he asks quietly.

"I want what you want. I want you to write what you want, and I want you to perform, but this is..."

"What?" he asks, putting his guitar to the side, and I move into him.

"It won't last, and you know it. You'll go back to being bitter."

He looks pained by that, his hands going to my sides and holding me there, not that I was going to go anywhere. "I know."

I'm surprised he didn't argue, but I just kiss him instead of saying anything else. I don't think we need to talk more about it. We both know he can't just put being Justin St. James back into the bottle. It doesn't work like that.

We kiss, and I press him back so he's lying flat on the grass, my hands on his chest. I undo his jeans and my pants quickly, freeing our dicks as we rut against each other on the baseball field.

Never thought this was a fantasy of mine, but here we are. It's hot as hell as we grind and kiss, his hands gripping my ass as I wrap a hand around our shafts, and we fuck into it. My cock slides against his until I come, and he follows me over. We lie like that for a long time, just kissing, not worrying about the mess we made until I go to the car to grab some wet wipes.

We clean up, then kiss some more before he grabs his guitar and plays me more songs. Beautiful songs that go straight to the heart.

Yeah, the world needs these songs, and they need Justin to sing them.