Don’t Fall For A Dreamer (Wayward Lane Backstage #3)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

JESSE

I arrived home, dropped off the guitar, and headed back out again. To a local dive called Flannery’s. It was only a short walk from my condo, so it was perfect. The whiskey was cheap, the music was old, and the crowd was suspect. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get as drunk as possible before closing time. Then I’d forget all about the bossy photographer whose smile lit up a room. I wouldn’t recall his sexy laugh. And maybe I’d forget about those beautiful eyes of his, too.

Evert had me all up in my feels, and I didn’t like it one damn bit.

And why the fuck had I given in and picked up that guitar? Ever since, my hands itched, like if I didn’t play again in the next while, I’d go crazy. My one and only addiction was back with a vengeance.

I finished my double, neat, and let the alcohol incinerate my frustration. The room smelled like stale booze and sweat, but the more I drank, the less I cared.

Nearing on one, and my eyes grew tired. I ordered another whiskey and let the numbness take over. I hadn’t had this much liquor in over a decade. When I was younger, hell yeah, I did the whole sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll routine. But I was older now. Wiser? Probably not. Not tonight, at least.

As I sat on a battered bar stool, I surveyed my surroundings. There were a handful of people sitting at the bar, alone, like me, staring into their drink. One of them was chatting up the bartender, who, as it turned out, was also the owner. A fast-talking, dark-haired Irishman who dispensed drinks and advice with the ease of experience. For a second, I thought about ordering another round and confessing my troubles to a stranger. Then I shook my head at that idea.

You’ve had enough booze for one night. Go home.

Despite my foggy brain, I knew for sure that I wouldn’t find any answers in the bottom of a whiskey glass. Suddenly, I needed to get out of here.

I threw a couple of twenties on the sticky bar top and headed for the exit. The shock of cool night air hit me, as did the noisy sounds of nearby partygoers down the street. At least someone was having fun tonight.

The more I walked, though, the more I realized that picking up that guitar stirred a part of me that had been slumbering for far too long. It was scary but also exciting. A rush I’d missed. But one that had me worrying all the same. About all the what ifs. I thought I’d settled into my life, and my career as a manager. A steady paycheck, and a work schedule that didn’t leave time for anything else.

But now, I wondered…

When I finally got back home, it was a quick stumble from my door to the couch in my living room. My head hit the cushion but oddly enough, I didn’t fall asleep right away. I stared longingly at Holloway’s guitar, and the memory of Evert as he watched me play.

In the silent echo of my apartment, the quiet had never felt so lonely.

I woke up the next morning to a loud knock, bright sunlight, and the vile taste of booze breath. My glasses were askew, so half my vision was clear and the other blurry. Bolting upright, I moved too fast, and nearly fell off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. The room was spinning. Wait, it wasn’t the room, it was my head. My stomach pitched and I swallowed down the bitter taste of bile. Fuck, I was never drinking that much again.

There was another knock at the door, louder this time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” I grumbled, adjusting my glasses.

Dressed in the same pants and shirt from last night, I shuffled across the room and glanced through the peephole.

Oh no. Please God no.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I barked, as I wrenched open the door. “How do you even know where I live?”

Evert pushed past me, a tray of cups in one hand and a brown paper bag with grease stains in the other. The tempting scent of coffee, bacon, and butter hit me. Normally, I’d be all over that, but not this morning. Ugh. Thinking about food made my stomach flip over, in the worst possible way.

“Brodie told me. He talked my ear off last night after you left,” Evert replied as he sauntered into my living room. “I really like your place. It’s cozier than I imagined.”

“It’s not fancy, but it’s home.”

My condo wasn’t nearly as glamorous as Evert’s, and it wasn’t filled with wall-to-wall artwork either. I was a minimalist kind of guy and spent more time in the office than at home. I bought in five years ago, when this apartment triplex had been converted into three loft units. It offered the kind of space and light that was rare in a city apartment. I had the entire third floor, with no one above me. I valued my privacy. With a high stress job, it was necessary.

“Is the couch comfortable to sleep on?”

I didn’t miss Evert’s sarcasm or his smirk. Or the fact that he looked sexy AF in low slung jeans, and a simple black t-shirt. He’d left his hair unbraided, the golden strands hitting his shoulders. No glasses again today. With or without them, it didn’t matter. He was as stunning as one of his photographs. And me? I didn’t dare glance at my reflection.

“It is,” I replied as I stared at my brown leather couch. “But then, comfort is relative. I’m used to traveling and sleeping whenever and wherever I need to.”

Evert nodded and walked from my living room to the kitchen, placing the cups and the bag on the counter.

“Hungry?” Evert asked me.

I shook my head and every movement hurt. “The last thing I need right now is food.”

“Food is exactly what you need. It smells like a distillery in here. You need something to soak up the booze in your system.”

“Well, make yourself at home then.”

I threw up my hands and stalked over to the kitchen to join him.

“The coffee’s black,” he added. “I didn’t know how you like it.”

“Sweet and creamy,” I replied as I glanced up at him.

“Same.”

Evert’s gorgeous smile was so blinding, it nearly knocked me flat on my ass. I reached for the counter to steady myself. I was just hungover, right? My weak knees and trembling heart had nothing to do with this man. Nothing.

Bullshit.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, staring at him, I shook off my dizziness. I wandered over to the fridge, yanked out the container of half and half, and set it on the counter with a shaky hand.

“Sugar bowl’s near the toaster,” I mumbled as I walked away. “I’ve gotta hit the head.”

Was I rude? Undoubtedly. I was blunt most of the time, but more so in the morning. Even though I was no longer on stage, I kept musicians’ hours, and that meant mornings were a danger zone. And hungover to boot? Look out.

I left Evert standing in my kitchen, while I wandered down the hallway. After taking care of the basics, including brushing my teeth, I hopped in the shower and scrubbed down as fast as I could. I didn’t bother shaving my scruff, though.

Feeling fresher, and moderately human, I padded into my bedroom and changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt. I started back down the hallway when I heard music. But it wasn’t the usual pulse-pounding rock I listened to. It was a country tune, soft and soulful. Seductive.

Like Ev.

What? No. Get that thought out of your head.

I continued walking and stopped short when I spotted Ev sprawled out on my couch, his face in profile, one hand on the back cushion. He was humming along with the song, legs splayed, totally at ease. The sight of him, here, in my home, filled me with a strange ache. I rubbed my chest, willing myself to let it go.

“You didn’t tell me why you’re here,” I blurted out.

Evert turned his head and gave me a long once over that had my pulse racing out of control.

He smiled at me. “Coffee and food first.”

That was practical and so was I.

Slowly, I made my way over and sat down next to him, gratefully accepting the offered coffee. The first sip was perfectly sweet and strong—liquid heaven—and I moaned appreciatively. I glanced over to find Evert staring at me like he’d never seen me before.

“What?” I asked.

Evert shook his head.

“Uh, nothing. I—” Evert cleared his throat. “I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night. I know that singing with the guys was a big deal for you. But the way you left, so suddenly, I was concerned. It reminded me of the first public event I went to after Zachary died. I was so nervous being in front of all those people that I was ready to bolt. And I did. Even though I kept telling myself I was prepared, I wasn’t.”

“I can’t even imagine, Ev. How did you cope?”

He sighed.

“My goal was to stay for half an hour. Thirty minutes, tops, and I was out of there. And it was a good thing too. Five minutes in and I had to fight off tears every time someone would approach and offer condolences. But then, the more I talked to people, the more I realized that I needed to. I lasted twenty minutes. And after that night, little by little, it got easier,” Evert paused and ran a hand through his hair. “And now, I remember the good times I had with him. I hold onto that, and I keep moving forward.”

“You’re braver than me,” I admitted, suddenly feeling foolish. “You lost your partner. I just lost?—”

“Hey.” Evert nudged me with his knee. I jolted, electrified, and fuck, who needed caffeine? “Everyone has their heartache. You lost something too, and someone, but in a different way.”

“Are you a counselor as well as a photographer?”

Evert shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. “Nope, but I’ve had my share of therapy. And, as my abuela would say, sometimes you gotta crawl your way through the darkness to get to the light.”

I turned and stared into his green eyes. I couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Sound advice.”

“She was a fighter. She instilled the same in me.”

I took another sip of coffee and considered. “I was overwhelmed last night. And I’m not sure how I feel today. Part of me wants to pick up that guitar again, and the other part tells me to leave it be.”

“Your heart is telling you to do it, but your brain is saying no?”

I nodded. I was too tired to deny the truth.

“Small steps,” Evert replied and sipped his drink. When he licked his lips, my eyes caught on that sexy ring of his.

“Brodie asked me to play with them on tour,” I blurted out.

Evert choked on his coffee and coughed. “He didn’t mention that. And that’s not small.”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “It’s not. I told him no, but?—”

“The heart wants?” Evert replied.

Suddenly, my stomach let out a loud rumble and my face heated. Evert chuckled, grabbed one of the wrapped sandwiches, and passed it to me.

“The stomach wants first. Eat. Then you can figure out the rest.”