7. Waylon

Chapter Seven

WAYLON

H e wasn't lying about the water pressure. Holy shitballs, I've never had a worse shower in my life. I'd be better off letting the kitchen faucet run over my head than the little dribble from the shower.

This is torture. But when I've shaved and dressed in one of my suits, I feel a little better. Not to mention finally having coffee flowing through my veins.

And Justin is willing to talk. That's a step. A small one, but it'll have to do for now because after that shower and terrible sleep, I need a win. So when I'm fully dressed, I make my way back over to his cabin, only to find him sitting on the porch, waiting for me.

The porch of his cabin has two—what look like handmade—rocking chairs, and he's sitting in one, so I take the other. "Ready to talk?" I ask him.

"Ready to listen?" he shoots back, and I can't help the smile that crosses my face because damn it, I do love this feisty side of him.

"I am. Tell me what you want."

His eyes meet mine for a moment, and in that very brief time, I swear I see hunger there. Desire. Want. But then he quickly shutters it and takes a deep breath, looking out at the view. A view I can't deny is supremely beautiful.

"I told you. I don't want to be famous anymore. I want to be a songwriter."

"And you want to perform," I point out because I know him. As much as he may not have reveled in the fame part, he's a performer by nature. He loves to listen to the crowd responding to him. And if he's going to be going solo and writing his own songs, I imagine that will only be amplified.

"I do," he confirms. "I have a gig tomorrow actually."

"A gig?" I ask curiously. "Where?"

"It's a tiny little dive bar about twenty minutes from here. It's perfect. I booked it myself."

"Do they know who you are?"

He shakes his head. "No. I told them I was a new songwriter and wanted to test out my songs on a live audience at no charge."

I take in the information, hating how I can hear the excitement in his voice, even though he's trying to hide it, and really hating that I need to squash it. "Justin," I start before huffing out a deep breath. "You like this place, right?"

He rolls his eyes at me, already irritated, but at least he answers, "I do. I paid for a year in advance."

"So you,"—I point at him just to add emphasis to my point—"Justin St. James, are going to show up at a bar and play for only twenty minutes from the place you want to be for the next year?"

I can see when the realization hits him, and he does exactly what I expect him to. He gets defensive. "They won't recognize me. It's a small bar out in the middle of nowhere. It'll probably be an audience of twenty people at the most, and that includes the owners and the waitstaff. No one will even be paying attention. Don't try to ruin this for me."

"I'm not trying to ruin this." I remain calm. "I'm trying to help you out because whether you like it or not, you are Justin St. James." His jaw clenches tight, but he doesn't say anything. "Someone will recognize you."

"No, they won't," he says stubbornly, but I can see the uncertainty there.

"You gonna wear a wig, sunglasses... maybe a little hat?" Okay, now I'm being a dick, but I swear I'm trying to help.

He glares at me, and I can't help grinning like a fool. "No, asshole. But no one around here even knows who Immoral is."

I can see why he thinks that, but it's not a totally safe bet. "And if someone does? A new waitress or anyone with internet—which, okay, around here might not be many— but someone might. And if they do, it's only a matter of time before people are swarming your new place and you'll be forced to leave."

"It won't happen," he says stubbornly.

"It could, and then you'll have to leave or have absolutely no privacy whatsoever. Which I'm guessing is why you're here."

I can't help looking around at the desolate place. "I am," he says so quietly, I almost don't hear him and turn my head to look at him just in time to see he's also looking out at the land around us. "I wanted this goddamn veil of privacy so bad, I could taste it. I used to dream about it. After shows." I watch as he swallows hard, and then his eyes meet mine. "A place just like this, out in the middle of nowhere. No one breaking into my apartment. No one following me everywhere I go. A place where I could go to the store or for a walk without a camera in my face."

I nod slowly because I know. I've worked with a lot of celebrities over the years, and they all seem to have a varying need for that veil of privacy Justin is talking about. Some don't seem to need it at all and thrive on the attention. Some don't mind smiling for the camera sometimes, but Justin was always different. He loved being on that stage, but after he was done playing, he wanted out of the spotlight.

"Then you can't play at that bar." I'm really not trying to be an asshole this time, but his jaw clenches hard all the same.

"It's fine. I know it's fine. You're just here to mess with my head."

"You know deep down that's not true."

He stands up, moving to the edge of the porch. "I need this," he says so desperately, I have to give in. But in my own way...

"So let me set up some gigs. Small, but far enough away from here."

"Why?" He turns to face me, his arms crossed over his lower stomach.

I try to hide the hurt I feel, just from that simple question, but I doubt I'm successful. "Because you need this, and I'm a damn good manager."

"Ten percent of zero is still zero. Not a great business move."

I shrug and stand up, but don't move toward him. "It's not about business, and you know it."

His eyes lock on mine, nearly making me stutter and fall as I start toward the porch railing. I catch myself quickly and make it to the edge, letting my hands rest on the railing as I look out. "Is this because...?"

I don't bother turning to look at him, but I shake my head. When he stops talking, I know he must have been watching me. "No. That was a mistake."

I feel him tense next to me and know it wasn't a nice way of putting it, but there's just no other way to describe it. I shouldn't have done it. I knew it then. Although... I don't regret it.

Even though I should.

But it can't happen again.

I need to help him get settled in whatever it is that will finally make him happy. And then I need to get the hell out of here and back to my life.

"Then why not just let me fuck up so you can say I told you so ?" he asks bluntly, and I can't help smiling at the fact that he didn't shrink back in the slightest, despite my words being sort of shitty.

"Because you may not believe this." I turn to face him. "But I want you to be happy. I need to know you're doing what you love and you're safe." His eyes are intense as they remain on mine, sending an unwanted shiver through my entire damn body that I force myself to ignore.

It can't happen again.

Which also brings me to the next thing on my agenda. "Did you come here so you could..." He's waiting for me to be as blunt as I usually am, and for some reason, I can't seem to get the words out. My fingers grip the railing, and I look away from him.

"I could what?" he asks carefully. I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head, but I refuse to look at him.

"You weren't exactly out then . . ."

He lets out a harsh laugh, understanding what I'm asking. "You think I came to the hills of Tennessee to live my best gay life?"

I roll my eyes at him, but my fingers only grip the railing tighter, thinking about him doing just that. I mean, he should. He absolutely should if that's who he is and what he wants. I want that for him.

I do.

Sort of.

Damn it.

"Or bisexual life," is the only response I can come back with.

"I am bisexual," he confirms, and I nod, even though his identity doesn't make a difference to me, one way or another. Just as long as he's able to be as open and loud about it as he wants to be.

"I understand this may not be the best place to hook up, but if you're wanting this veil of privacy you're talking about, maybe that's because you want more freedom to do that."

He shakes his head, sighing deeply and looking out at the horizon. "It's about the music for me. That's why I'm here. Not the fame and not hookups. I want to be free. Can't you get that?"

I can.

I don't say it though. I don't say anything for a while as I look out at the trees and absolutely no traffic, cars, or people of any kind. "I'll help you. And then I'll leave."

He doesn't say anything at all, but I see the subtle nod he gives me.

That's good enough for me.