Worlds Collide (Fan Service #6)

12. Wolf

TWELVE

WOLF

“Holy shit,” I squeak out once Tristan finally finishes reading the list of all the places where CJ dumped billions of dollars.

“Exactly,” he cheers in triumph. “I told you this is doing wonders for you, Wolf. I need to have a talk with Harrison. What the hell is he doing with all his money?”

The way he mumbles the last part tells me that he’s not really talking to me but to himself, so I take the short time to think about the whole thing.

And I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. House included.

“I’m not with him,” I say into the phone, trying not to sound like I’m having an awful epiphany.

“So it was just like a...” He trails off.

“Yes,” I answer before he can use words I can never unhear.

“Huh,” is his only answer.

“Look, if nothing’s wrong can I go now? I just need to go... do something.” Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a lie at all. I mentally roll my eyes at myself.

“Sure, but I have one more thing before you go. It’s really only so Zoe and I can plan. Do you and Hawk have any ideas about the next album? When you want to release it, how many dates do you want to tour it? I haven’t been able to get a straight answer out of him.”

“We have nothing, Tristan. That’s why he’s fibbing. We don’t have a deadline but it’s the first time we haven’t had one of those, so I guess we’re both dragging our feet a little.”

“I get that. And I know you made that statement about the next album being full of your mom’s songs, but you know you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess I can talk about it with him tonight, but the material isn’t the problem.”

“Your lives have changed a lot in the past year, Wolf. If you need or want to take a real break and just not even think about music for a year, or even more, then you can do that. You know Cindy will make sure the label doesn’t bitch about this.”

“Okay.” I breathe out the word. That does make me feel better. “I’ll talk to Hawk and let you know as soon as we decide on something.”

“Perfect. Then have a good day. Oh, and happy birthday, Wolf.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Your present will get there in a few days, I’m told. Sorry for the delay.”

“Thanks. Bye now.” I snort and shake my head when I pull the phone back.

Then the papers scattered around the coffee table steal my attention like they’re glaring at me .

I started writing on my own about a month ago, and I even got out a bunch of Mom’s notebooks to leaf through them.

The few songs I’ve written aren’t for other people, they’re too personal for me to give them away, but they’re also not for The Storm. They’re just mine, and I don’t know what to do about that. It’s just all so messed up right now, and the more time passes where Hawk and I don’t work together, the easier it gets to work on my own.

Isn’t that good?

For us to put a little space between us?

Adrian, my personal therapist from rehab, expressed a lot of concern about how close Hawk and I have been all our lives. I explained—and Hawk and Derek backed me up on this when we had a family session—how Hawk was really the only constant in my life since he was born. Not even Mom was there for me the way Hawk was.

But then Adrian explained how I didn’t need to only have Hawk in my life anymore. I could have other people who are important to me. But with the way he’s been keeping me so damn close since I got out of rehab, the only other people in my life are their friends.

Like CJ.

Aaaaand that’s unhelpful.

There’s no use in thinking about CJ right now. I mean, who cares if I was wrong? Who cares if I wrongfully accused him? Who cares that he was just outed to the world without his permission?

He has a bunch of friends and family to help him get through that.

Just like everybody else, he doesn’t need me.

I stop in front of the patio sliding door of Derek and Hawk’s house and hesitate before opening it.

I probably should knock. Not only are they technically still newlyweds—though when will they stop being newlyweds, at the one year anniversary?—but this isn’t my home. I used to live with my brother, and then we moved in with Derek after I got out of rehab because I didn’t want to go back to the house where I had the accident.

I knew it was temporary because we were having the houses built already, but it was still like my house. I felt at home at Derek’s place.

I do feel like the ranch as a whole is my place too, but not this house in particular. I haven’t spent a lot of time here.

So what am I supposed to do? Should I walk around the house and knock on the front door?

Should I just slide open this one?

Knock on this one?

“What are you doing?” Derek’s sudden appearance beside me has me just about shitting myself.

“Fuck,” I shout at him, then shove at his shoulder.

“What? You’re the one lurking in the shadows here.”

“I’m not lurking . I was just wondering if I should knock.”

“Jesus Christ, just open the damn door, Wolf.” He shakes his head at me and that’s when I notice he’s dripping.

“What the fuck happened to you?” I ask and finally open the door.

“The sprinklers are acting up again.”

“I still think it’s stupid that you put grass out here,” I mumble as I walk into the kitchen where it smells like Derek’s ragu sauce. Fuck yeah, I love Derek’s lasagna.

“We wanted a yard. ”

“The whole property is a yard,” I point out.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

“Where’s Hawk?” I ask easily and only think about my words when Derek’s eyebrows rise. I decide not to correct myself. It doesn’t mean anything that I didn’t say Birdie.

“He was just getting changed when I went out a few minutes ago.”

“Okay.” I nod, and mention my presents so we can move past this quickly. “Thanks for my new tennis shoes, I love them.”

“I knew you would. You’re becoming a master at tennis so you should have the master’s shoes.”

I scoff. “Hardly, but thanks anyway.”

“Oh, did you like my present too?” I hear from behind me and Hawk comes in with his hair still dripping.

“Of course I loved your present, those outfits are awesome, and you nailed the frame for the wedding photo.”

“Yeah,” he agrees excitedly. “I saw it the other day and thought it would go perfectly with the dark wood of all the furniture you picked out.”

“It does. It’s already on my dresser.” I nod, and nod again at Derek when he offers me a Coke. “Can you tell me where you got it so I can get more for downstairs?”

“Sure, it’s a little place in town. Artisanal something...” He trails off and looks to the side. “I’ll try to find the receipt.”

“I’ll just text you the instructions for how to get there,” Derek says helpfully. Knowing my brother and his very ADHD brain, there’s no way that ticket still exists, let alone that he’ll find it.

“Yeah, that’s a better idea.” Hawk snorts and moves around Derek to get himself something to drink too.

And I... don’t know what to say. Talking about decor and stores isn’t really talking, at least it never has been with Hawk. What are we supposed to talk about? Well maybe I could ask Derek about?—

“So what’s the deal with CJ?” Derek asks distractedly as he looks inside the oven. Hawk turns quickly to look at me then away, as Derek keeps talking. “It’s so shitty that he got outed like that. Hopefully he’s okay.”

“Uh, yeah.” Not thanks to me, he’s not. “And there’s no deal.”

“But—” Derek looks up at me, confused frown firmly on his face.

“How much longer, Dee?” Hawk interrupts him loudly.

I scowl at my brother, then decide to just leave it. Clearly, talking about anything that has to do with me when anyone else is around is something he just never wants to do, so I turn around and get busy looking for silverware and plates.

“The Warriors looked good on Sunday,” I say amiably when we’re all settled down to eat. “And everyone made a fuss about your new last name.”

Deedee snorts. “It’s a badass last name. I don’t care if that means the whole world knows we got married. And yeah, we’ve got a few kinks to work out, but AJ killed it, didn’t he?”

“Uh-huh,” I agree.

“Do you think you’ll come to a few games this season?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” I smile at my—well I don’t know if I can still call him my best friend. He hasn’t really been that since he became my brother’s boyfriend and then his husband. I love Derek, of course I do, but I can’t complain to him about Birdie anymore, can I?

And I definitely won’t be confiding in him about what’s been happening with CJ. He would maybe deck me, or call up his buddy Adam to do the job. I’m definitely never going to another of their group events ever again .

“Tristan wants to know if we’re planning on releasing the new album in the next year,” I say, trying to start a normal conversation with my brother. In answer, he drops his fork and keeps his head lowered. I let out a big breath and give him a minute to decide if he wants to say something or not. When the minute passes though, and he’s still not speaking, I give up. “We don’t have to make the album with Mom’s songs, Birdie,” I say in a soft voice. It feels good to once more be filled with tenderness when I’m talking to him. Maybe it’s all fixed now?

“I do want to make that album with you.” His voice is soft, but I know he’s not lying.

“We’ve been very busy,” I admit.

“Yes, for the past decade and a half we’ve been busy, Wolfie.” He does look up then and with those big doe-like eyes that break me every time. “I just want a real break.”

“Then we’ll take one,” I say with a shrug and look back down at my food like the topic is closed and resolved, like I’m not instantly filled with dread at the thought of having nothing to do.

“Really?” I hear the hope in his voice and see him reach for Deedee’s hand out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah. When we’re both ready we’ll make another album. We do still have to give two albums to the label, but there’s no deadline, and like Tristan told me, Cindy will get it sorted if they start making demands. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Wolfie.” Next thing I know, Birdie’s up and gripping my neck like a vice. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” I mumble and keep quiet the rest of the night.

I’ve been a quiet type of person for a lot of years now, so it’s normal for them, and they clearly don’t think twice about it. They cuddle while we watch TV after dinner, and I just sit and do my best to control the itchiness .

I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now if I’m not writing.

I can’t give my songs to other artists, that’s just not happening, and I can’t record solo. I will never subject myself to that, and that’s a conversation I never want to have with Birdie.

If I’m not writing for The Storm then I might as well not write at all.

And that’s the itchiness again.

Just the thought of not writing songs every day, even if it’s just a phrase, is unpleasant enough, but knowing I’m really not going to be working on any song at all is torturous.

“So, why aren’t you at the stadium with your brother?” Clive asks me as he sits down in his recliner and kicks back.

“I just didn’t feel like crowding him today. There’s always a lot of attention on us if we’re both there. If it’s just him then he’s closer to being only one of the players’ significant others.”

He nods like he understands and gets his tablet from the side pocket of his chair.

“It’s the same with me and the kids.” He taps the screen a few times and next thing I know all the six screens he has set up in his football den light up with a different game.

“I guess you really know how to watch football,” I tell him in wonder.

“Yeah.” He chuckles loudly, once. “We analysts can’t really opt out of seeing a boring-ass game if there is one. I have to watch every game, otherwise I’d probably be at the stadium with your brother.” He turns to look at me then. “No offense. ”

I snort. “None taken. And I get that. Talking about football all week while there’s no actual football going on is hard, I bet.”

“It can be, but it’s still the fourth best job in the world!” He raises his Warriors-branded container that Adam got him so he would drink more water, and just picturing Adam buying something that’s branded with a team other than his brings me a sick satisfaction. I clink my water bottle to his and take a sip with a smile on my face. Clive Darnell is the coolest seventy-year-old in the world.

“What are the other three?” I wonder.

“Tied at first is being a dad and a grandpa.” He nods seriously.

“Of course,” I agree. As far as I know, Clive Darnell is the best one at those things, followed closely by my uncle, though he’s not a grandpa yet.

“Second is being a QB in the best football league in the world.” I cringe at that because I’m actually more of a soccer person, and the Champions League is way better than the NFL in my opinion, but I know I need to keep that to myself if I want to still have company on a Sunday. “And third is being the Thursday Night Football commentator.”

“That seems about right, you’re also really good at that one.”

“Some say I was born for it,” he says with his nose high in a fake haughty way.

The man cracks me up, and I’m more thankful to him for inviting me over than I will ever tell him or anyone.

The week at the ranch has been so damn quiet. I needed to get out, and even though I only walked over to the ranch next door, it’s already doing wonders for my mood.

I didn’t write all week even though my hand was twitching with the need to play the guitar or try out a new melody on my piano.

I watched a lot of TV, played a lot of tennis, and I even went down to the beach until I was spotted, then I decided I better go back home before someone managed to take a picture of me again.

But what the fuck else am I supposed to do with all the hours in the day if Hawk and I are taking a real, long break?

I called Cindy and Tristan again, told them all about what Birdie and I had talked about. Then I had a quick conversation with Bruce, our business manager, just to check up on things.

I went to a couple of meetings, had breakfast with Linda, toyed with the idea of maybe trying producing for other artists so I could still do something with music, but then remembered I’ve never been good with computers or with the whole talking-to-other-people thing, and lastly I even tried reading a book.

Turns out Hawk may not be the only one in our family with ADHD ’cause I didn’t even get through one chapter.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself for however long this break is supposed to be.

So spending my Sunday with one of the best people I know, who’s not one of Derek’s friends—at least he’s not part of the friends group I’m currently avoiding—and who seems to like my company, is very much an improvement.

Uninvited, the thought, the question of what CJ is doing today comes into my head and I can’t seem to shake it.

He’s probably working.

Aren’t young doctors supposed to be working all the time?

Yeah, he’s probably working, but if he’s not, then?—

“What the fuck,” I shout, completely taken off guard when I see Hawk on one of the TVs. He’s in a suite at the Warriors’ stadium, and he’s sitting next to none other than CJ.

“Hey, isn’t that your boyfriend?” Clive, bless his heart, asks.

I growl and stop myself from throwing my water bottle at the TV.

What the fuck is my brother doing?