Hawke’s resting his ass against the rental car when I walk out of the house. I told him I didn’t need him to come with me. I played it down and told him there was no way he wanted to come to this hellhole town. But did he listen to me?
Of course fucking not.
Instead, he sat next to me on the flight. He listened to words I didn’t speak and then held a one-sided conversation with me where he answered all the questions I’d been asking myself.
If you think that you’re like your dad, how is it so damn easy for you to love Jagger?
How many times over the past few weeks have you wanted to tell Jagger what a worthless piece of shit he is? How many times have your hands fisted and you felt like throwing a punch at him?
I’ve never whipped my eyes up so fast in my life as that moment. But I was met with a shit-eating grin and a lift of his eyebrows—my reaction to him an answer in and of itself.
Of course, I haven’t felt that way. Not even fucking close. But Hawkin, in his shock value, got the point across.
I’m not my fucking dad.
I never have been. I never will be.
And when I walk out of the house and see Hawkin standing there, I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.
“You good?” he asks from where he’s no doubt studying me from behind his sunglasses.
“I will be.”
He nods in response and then climbs into the driver’s seat. I stop for a beat and look around one last time at a neighborhood I will forget and a town I refuse to come back to.
The only lasting thing Fairfield gave me was Bristol.
Other than that, it can burn to the ground.
“I think a drink or eight is in order,” Hawke says. “Tell me where to go.”
I give him directions to a bar near our hotel and try not to read too much into how much this feels like old times. Hawke. Me. A car. A bar. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s sitting beside me.
My best friend even when I don’t deserve him.
We drive past places I used to take Bristol. A park where we used to make out in my back seat. A movie theater where we’d skip from theater to theater on a single ticket to beat the heat. The burger joint where we’d sit and drink milkshakes way after her curfew because I didn’t want to go back home and she sensed the unspoken reasons why.
Bristol.
The need to call her all week has been there, but never more so than it has in this moment. I did it, Shug. I slayed the dragon. I’m free to be the man you think I can be.
But I hold tight to the promise I made myself.
I have one more right to wrong before I can talk to her. Before I can hold her. Before I can strike the goddamn match for the final time.
“Wanna talk about it?” Hawkin asks after we take a seat at the bar.
“Not really.”
“Did you say what needed to be said?” he asks, being the only person other than Bristol who knows the real Deegan Jennings.
“Yeah.”
“Do you feel better for it?”
It’s a good question. One I mull over as Hawkin motions the bartender over, talks him down from the shock of who is sitting at his bar, and orders our drinks.
“I said what needed to be said. I said what I would have regretted had I never had the chance to say it. Feeling better is beside the point.”
“Fair enough.” He nods and then lifts his chin to where the bartender is lining up two rows of five shots each. “The jet’s slated for takeoff in two hours.”
“And you plan for us to be shitfaced before then?”
“No. I plan for us to be right again before then.” He picks up a shot and places it in front of me before grabbing one himself. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“Five things.”
“That’s very specific,” I joke. “Care to tell me what they are?”
“Yep.” He nods and taps the first shot against mine. “For letting your dad go.” He holds a finger up to correct himself. “I should say for finally letting go of the choke hold your dad has had on you.”
I stare at the shot and nod before downing it and then cough over the burn.
“Hurts like a motherfucker,” Hawke croaks. “At least we know we’re fucking alive.”
“Amen to that,” I say as he scoots the second shot toward me. “Whoa. What’s with the breakneck pace?”
“When it comes to you, the path of least resistance is to get you drunk fast.”
I laugh. God, it feels good to have him sitting here beside me. To have him here when I need him because he just knows.
He lifts number two. “For finally pulling your head out of your ass when it comes to Bristol.” I stare at him. “Down it, Vin.”
“Who said anything—”
“You’ve loved the woman your whole life. I know it. Rocket and Gizmo know it. You even know it. Now down the shot like a good boy and admit she’s it for you so you can move on like a mature fucker and make an honest woman of her.”
“I’m working on it,” I say to which he throws up his hand and cheers.
“You’ve been working on it for eleven years. Why don’t you work a little faster? Cheers, fucker.”
The second goes down smoother, with a bout of laughter and a sharp pang in my chest.
I miss her.
Fuck, I missed her the minute I left the house. But I needed this distance to clear my head. To work and to realize how much better it would be to have her to go home to afterward. To have a piece of normal amid my crazy. To just have her.
“Number three—”
“You do know the last time we sat down together, you were pissed off at how much I was drinking, right?”
Hawkin slaps a hand on my back and squeezes my shoulder. “That’s because you were drinking out of misery. Not from happiness. This?” He throws his arms out. “This is all happiness. This is all good.” He nods to make sure I’m listening. “Now pick your third up. If I’m getting fucked up celebrating you, you best be doing the same.”
I laugh. “Number three.”
“To Jagger. Sometimes facing your biggest fear can be your greatest reward. I have a feeling he just might be that.” He taps his glass against mine.
The shots go up but fuck if it has to slide over the lump of emotion in my throat as it goes down.
He’s right. I stare down at the empty glass and just shake my head. He’s fucking right. How can I miss someone I just met this much?
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hawkin whispers and pats my back again.
“He’s the coolest fucking kid in the world,” I say.
“Of course he is. He’s yours.”
I laugh and eye him when he pushes the next shot in front of me. My head is already swimming with this frat-boy hazing drinking shit.
“What’s this one for?” I ask.
“For doing this.” He slides his phone across the bar. On the screen is the Billboard Top 100 chart and sitting at number one is Sweet Regret.
I stare at it. The irony’s not lost on me that the day I let my dad go, figuratively, is the day I reached the one thing he said I could never do. My eyes blur and my throat burns.
I did it.
I hit number one.
Just me.
“Congratulations, brother. I’m proud of you.”
I lift the glass. I down the shot.
But the expected happiness barely crests. Pride is there but it hits differently.
It feels hollow.
Empty.
Because I’m missing the one goddamn dot that connects all the good things we’re celebrating. Bristol. She’s been a part, a reason, a driving factor behind all these things I’m rewarding myself for. For the courage to see that I’m not my father. For never stopping loving me. For giving me a son. For giving me this song. The song.
I wish she were here to kiss. I wish Jagger were here to high-five. It feels empty here without them beside me. But it’s not just them. It’s celebrating this huge milestone without my bandmates here. The only people who can sit beside me and marvel about this crazy, fucking life we have.
I’m happy . . . but it also makes me sad.
“You okay?”
“Yep.” I swallow it down to dissect later. It’s probably just the alcohol. Just the moment. “What’s the fifth one for?”
“That depends,” he says.
“On?”
“On if we’re celebrating you coming back to the band. We’re thrilled about your success. We never doubted you could do it. But, Vin, we want you home, with us. You’re our family. Our brother. It’s not the fucking same without you.”
I look at the shot in my hand, I look at Hawke, and then I down it without question.
“Guess that means we’re celebrating then,” he says before grabbing me and hugging my neck.
For the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I want to be in all things.
All things save for one.
And that one thing is sitting at home waiting for me. Waiting on me. Waiting to make a life with me.
This week has proven I can live without her and Jagger.
But more importantly, this time away has only cemented that I don’t ever want to live my life without them.
They are my life.
