Worlds Collide (Fan Service #6)

27. CJ

TWENTY-SEVEN

CJ

“Jesus, that's a cute baby, Sounders. Put that away or my ovaries are going to get me in trouble,” Pres grumbles at me. Valery Preston is a resident just like me and we’re working in Dr. Litton’s department this month.

She wants to be an ortho surgeon so she’s been overly excited about this rotation since they told us last week.

“It’s my goddaughter,” I tell her, preening a bit. “She’s one month old today.” I’m probably the proudest godfather in the world, and I don’t even care about how ridiculous that is.

Dani—as Sebas and Adam told us they’ll call her for short—has been a godsend the past month since I went to New York. Since... Wolf. I was a wreck after seeing him, but having the opportunity to get to know her even for a few days in New York really helped me focus on what’s important and what’s in front of me.

My phone vibrates with yet another call from my mother. It's been constantly one phone call a day since Wolf told the world exactly how far he wants her to stay away from him, and I’m not in any hurry to answer. She should stop soon, there’s no way she’ll keep giving me this much thought.

I put my phone away after declining the call, and nudge Pres to get back to work.

I have to say, my life is ninety-nine percent perfect.

I do miss Wolf, and I wish he was here, but I do understand why he needs this time away. Besides, I saw firsthand that it’s not easy for him either, so that makes it hurt just a little bit less.

Adam’s updates—which have become less and less hostile as the weeks go by—help too.

I’m doing my best to catch up with all the other residents in my year, but with how much time I’ve spent away, it’s unlikely I’ll be at their level any time soon. Though Dr. Yang tells me he’s happy with me, I know that I’ll have to put in extra work for the next three years so I can pass the Board Certification in general surgery in time to start my fellowship in pediatrics.

But that can all be done easily enough as long as I don’t miss any more time.

For all of March and April I keep my head down, do the work, go home and hang out with Gracie, occasionally see Derek and Hawk when they come to the city for whatever reason, and just settle into my life.

I hang out more with my coworkers outside the hospital—some dinners, drinks after work on a few especially hard days, and we start getting together for study sessions twice a week on our off days.

Wolf is never far from my mind. Not only because Adam and Carter seem to like him more every day, but because almost everything outside the hospital reminds me of him.

The ocean? I picture him playing tennis at the ranch with the Pacific laid out behind him .

Boats? I remember our time at Lake Como.

Big black cars? I remember his car and Rich driving it.

Beds? Yeah . . .

I do miss the sex, not gonna lie, and though there’s been some not-subtle-at-all probing from Hawk and Gracie, I can’t even picture myself hooking up with another person—man or woman.

Wolf is the only person in my mind, and I know I could resent that.

I could be mad about him promising to come back for me a year after leaving. I could be offended that he just expected me to wait—but he didn’t.

He said unless there’s a ring on your finger .

I can’t imagine he’d be okay with me being in a relationship while he’s away—and I’d be pretty miffed if he didn’t care to be honest—but he never told me he expected me to be celibate or not to date.

Unless I find someone I want to marry—hardly probable since I’ve never considered that before with anyone—Wolf is going to “conquer” me. And that just makes me happy. It gives me peace of mind.

I need to wait. I need to work on myself too, and hope that Wolf feels safe enough in a year to come back.

The days start to blur one into the next until before I know it, it’s May, and I’m at a fancy restaurant celebrating Hawk’s birthday.

“We’re flying over tomorrow,” Hawk tells me quietly after I congratulate him and can’t help but look around. “He’s not coming,” he explains. My body deflates no matter how much I try to stop it from doing so. “Sorry,” Hawk mumbles and looks away.

And now I feel like shit.

“Hey, don’t worry about it at all.” I do my best to sound convincing. “I’m happy to be here and celebrate with you. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course I’d invite you, you’re my bro—” He cuts himself off before he can get the words out. Good, because that would’ve been too much. And weird. And inaccurate. “My friend. You’re my friend.”

“Yeah, I am.” I smile softly at him then move along to greet everyone else. I really don’t think that conversation was going anywhere good so best we stop while we’re ahead.

The oppressive weight of missing Wolf is sharpest in that moment, but I get through the night, and I do it with a smile.

It feels a bit cruel, though, when the next day, I receive a picture from Hawk. It’s Wolf, leaning against the railing of the roof or terrace of some tall building in Manhattan, looking to the side.

His hair is longer, hanging past his ears now, and his sharp jaw and those serious lips are pressed tightly. His arms are crossed like always, and the black leather jacket fits tightly around his slightly bigger biceps.

It’s mouthwatering and after I jack myself off furiously it doesn’t seem as cruel. Not until the next day, when I feel the emptiness again.

I force myself to focus fully on work after that. No more pictures of Wolf, no more googling pictures of him walking down the busy streets of New York with a stunning woman who’s apparently some hot-shot producer and is rumored to have been romantically linked to him years ago.

Anger starts to fester inside me then. Because I shouldn’t have to go through this. I didn’t do anything wrong but set my sights on Wolf and then go after him time and time again.

I promise myself that I’ll forget all about him, and try to contain all of my emotions in a locked box inside my heart.

I block it all out so efficiently that when my birthday arrives, and so does a big box, it’s a bit startling.

A package from New York. And since I’m seeing Adam in a few days in Las Vegas so we can hang out with all the Darnells, I know it’s not from him.

I open it to find a small, black leather box on top of white paper. I reach for it way too slowly—I don’t know why but I’m half-expecting something to jump up at me from the bottom of the box.

Nothing happens though, so I open the small box only to stare at it for way too long, not knowing what it means. When it hits me though, I can’t help but let out a huge laugh. It’s a pair of cufflinks in the shape of the letters LRB—little rich boy.

I can’t deny that I actually love them, and when I move the tissue paper aside, I find embroidered sweaters, a couple of shirts, and even a handkerchief, all with LRB on them. Though it’s silly, I note that they’re from brands I told Wolf I liked when we were in Italy. It’s an awesome gift, and I somehow find it in myself to miss him even more.

I swallow back the emotion and look at the bottom of the box to see a picture frame covered by a Post-It. I take it out and choke back a sob when I read his note.

It’s been eight months since I moved.

Six since I saw you.

And it feels like a million since I felt your lips on mine .

But it’s been barely a second since I thought of you.

Still missing you, still wanting you, still working on myself for us.

Happy birthday, little rich boy.

We’ll celebrate in style next year for the big three-oh.

— Max

I trace his signature for a moment while I compose myself. It’s stupid. I could let myself cry and just... feel it all. I’m alone in the apartment after all. But I can’t . I don’t know if I could stop if I allow myself to start. So I breathe deep, in through my nose, out through the mouth, a couple of times. He’s a damn good writer, I have to give him that.

Once I’m sure I can take whatever the picture shows me, I pull the note back and melt .

Wolf is smiling—wider than I’ve ever seen him—and holding the cutest, black German Shepherd puppy close to his face.

The back of the note catches my eye and I see there’s more.

Max Jr. also wishes you a happy birthday and can’t wait to meet you.

“Dear God,” I call out to the empty room. My voice is watery because if I needed any proof of Wolf’s commitment to me, this is more than I needed. He got a dog and named him after the nickname I gave him... That’s just too much for my fragile heart.

I worry myself all day by drafting a text for him, and in the end settle for the best I can come up with.

CJ

Thank you so much for my gifts.

Max Jr. is the cutest dog in the world and I can’t wait to meet him too.

Stay safe, Max.

He doesn’t answer for a while, and I worry again that maybe I should’ve kept the unspoken no-texting, no-talking rule, but eventually he does text back.

Wolf

Happy Birthday, little rich boy.

Still thinking about you every other second.

I snort. That’s such a Wolf thing to say, but luckily I can give it right back.

CJ

Keep it up.

To say that I spend every available second of the next two months planning Wolf’s birthday gift would be only a slight exaggeration.

In the end, I go with my gut and ask Mike and Adam to help only with a few details, mainly Max Jr.’s size.

I get a picture from Wolf himself after he gets his presents. All I can make out is he’s wearing his German Shepherd adult onesie I sent him and sitting on a couch. Max is next to him with his bigger-than-before head resting on Wolf’s lap .

I got him a faux-leather jacket so he can match Wolf when they go out, and looking up at Wolf longingly as he’s eating the tacos I ordered to commemorate the way we spent Wolf’s birthday last year.

Mike, of course, was incredibly helpful with his recommendation on the best tacos in town, and Wolf doesn’t disappoint from his texts.

Wolf

Awesome gift, little rich boy.

You know I’m buying you one too, right?

CJ

Wouldn’t expect anything else.

Did you see the back?

Wolf

Of course I did.

I’m most definitely not a good boy.

I bark out a laugh at that, I couldn’t help but pay for some embroidering myself and had “Good Boy” put in sparkly gold over Wolf’s ass on the onsie, and of course I put that in the back of Max Jr’s jacket too.

CJ

Sure you are.

And I was expecting a picture.

Just to make sure it fits . . . properly.

He only sends back an emoji with a raised eyebrow and I answer with a kissing one.

There’s no more texts after that, and I know that’s the way it’s supposed to go but again it only makes the sting of missing him more painful.

Only three more months to go.

Hopefully.

I don’t hear from Wolf at all until the second week of October. It’s totally unexpected, and the message is only a link.

I click on it and it takes me to a podcast by... Ed Trent?

It’s the second episode, and when it finally dawns on me that Wolf is the guest, I click on it so fast that my phone almost falls from my hand.

“I’m begging you mate, don’t take this the wrong way—” It’s Ed’s British voice that I hear as soon as the episode starts, but he’s quickly interrupted by Wolf.

“Oh you know I’m absolutely going to take this the wrong way.” My breath freezes in my lungs at the sound of his deep baritone. I guess that’s a teaser they used as an intro? I’m not a big podcast listener, so I have no idea if that’s usual or not.

But then there’s some electric guitar music and Ed’s voice again, welcoming everyone to his podcast “Here for a good time.”

“I’m here with one of my good friends, an amazing songwriter and half of the world-renowned band, The Storm. He has fifteen Grammys, and he’s an all around pretty sour guy, but I love him anyway. How are you, Wolf?” You can hear the humor in his voice.

“I’m fine, asshole.” His usual growly voice comes through.

“Hey, it’s a family friendly show.”

“You’re the one who invited me. You can suck it up. ”

Again, there’s laughter, and I want more than anything to be the one laughing with Wolf.

“Since you’re being nice,” Ed says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’m going to start with the hard question. You went to rehab about a year ago, what’s up with that and how are you now?” Something tells me this was the plan all along, to get the first big thing out of the way before the rest of the interview. And I’m proven right when Wolf speaks casually.

“Yeah, well I’m an alcoholic, and it was time to get some help.”

“Did it work?” Ed asks just as casually.

“Yeah, man. I just got my one-year chip. I’ve been working on myself this whole year, trying to get my shit together.”

“You’ve been working on some music?”

“Not officially. Birdie was beyond ready for a break when we finished our last tour, and Mom’s song just kind of got in the middle of all that. We made the plan to do an album with a bunch of songs we wrote with her and put those out, but then Birdie got married and he just wanted to enjoy life for a bit, you know?”

“I understand that,” Ed says and it sounds like he does.

“Yeah, so I’ve been writing and we’re slowly getting back into the groove, but we’re not in a hurry.”

“For me it seems like the best songs always come to you when you’re not trying to write an album, but that’s just my experience.”

“Speaking of your experience,” Wolf says. “You’ve been in this industry for more than thirty years, putting out albums pretty regularly up until about five years ago. How the fuck did you manage to stay clean throughout your career and not fall into all those pitfalls we mortals do?” I’m guessing he’s talking about addiction, and I’m genuinely eager to hear Ed’s answer.

“Well, to be fair, and I’m begging you mate, don’t take this the wrong way—” I remember this was the intro and laugh because I know what’s coming,

“Oh you know I’m absolutely going to take this the wrong way.”

Ed chuckles too before he keeps going.

“Okay, fine, get pissed at me, see if I care. I got my career in a very different way than you. And it was a different time. Like, I got started I think a few years before you were even born. And yeah, I was a fifteen-year-old kid who could sing and play the guitar and I had a lot of luck in getting signed and getting my first record deal, but I became a dad at sixteen, mate. And Sam and I took that parenting shit seriously even then and even though we were both kids too. We wanted to keep our careers alive, and we made a lot of sacrifices for it, but we had this immediate full stop where we realized that we had to find a balance or we’d put what we love most at risk.

“So to be frank, I think if I didn’t have that back then, I might’ve done more drugs, I might’ve partied a lot more than I did. But you my boy, well, I’m sorry if no one’s told you this before, but you got fucked over before you even started out in the industry. Life was just hard for you from the start.”

“Well, I wasn’t completely fucked over,” Wolf grumbles lightheartedly, surprisingly. I have a vague idea of what they’re going to talk about next, and I don’t know how Wolf could ever be lighthearted about any of it. “I had my Mom, who proved her love for us, and she never let us go without anything—” Ed interrupts him.

“Believe me. No one doubts your ma’s love for you two. I mean the first time I heard that hauntingly beautiful lullaby she wrote for you...” Ed pauses and has a choked voice when he speaks again. “I still get choked up just thinking about it. I understand that love, because I have four kids, and even though it would break my essence, I would do the same thing your ma did to protect them. Not that Sam is a bad mother,” he quickly amends and Wolf bursts out laughing. I do too because the sudden panic in Ed’s voice is funny.

“I feel very lucky that I can now smile when I hear that song,” Wolf says. “But yeah, there was definite trauma in my childhood, and I never got past it, never worked through it. Even though I had a lot of love and a lot of support, I didn’t know how to accept it. Not really.”

“Why do you think that is?”

There’s a marked pause and I can hear the deep breath Wolf takes.

“Guilt. I’ve always felt guilty.” My throat closes immediately. How can he feel guilty?

“For what?” Trent asks, sounding confused as hell.

“For that night. Mom was celebrating her big win, and I kept bugging Birdie. In my head—and my mom tried to discourage this thought and I’m working on unlearning it—but in my head everything that happened that night was my fault.”

“But you were just a kid, mate. You were five?”

“Seven,” Wolf corrects him and takes another deep breath. “And I do know that. Just a few weeks ago my therapist asked me if a seven-year-old kid came up to me and said the same thing, would I blame that kid?”

“Ah,” Ed pipes in . “You wouldn’t. ’Cause you’re not a dickhead.”

“I’d like to think so,” Wolf says with a tiny chuckle. “There’s also genetics to consider. All my adult life I’ve been scared shitless that I’m like my dad, and alcohol was just another way for me to prove to myself that I was. I’d like to think I do have some of my dad’s qualities. We can say a lot of things about him, but one thing that will always be true is that he was smart as hell. He had an eye for talent, and he knew how to develop it.”

My jaw is on the floor with how transparent he’s being. I never thought Wolf would do something like this.

“I’m biased there, as you know,” Trent says, sounding rueful.

“Exactly. You and Sam were both discovered by him, and though you didn’t succeed only thanks to him ? —”

“He was the springboard for us, and we met thanks to him,” Ed interrupts again.

“You did. The man was mean as fuck when he’d drunk a few and was in a foul mood at home, but I bet you never saw that side of him.”

“Never,” Ed confirms. “In the end, maybe a little, but he helped so much when we got pregnant. He helped more than anyone will ever know. But...”

“But he also did something unforgivable. At least in my mother’s eyes it was unforgivable.” Wolf finishes Ed’s statement.

“Not in yours?” Ed asks incredulously.

“It’s starting to sink in, finally, that if my mother hadn’t killed him that night, he probably would’ve killed all of us. I’m finally starting to accept that.”

“I hope it helps you get rid of that stupid, unhelpful, and undeserved guilt, mate.”

“Thanks, now let’s talk about something different.”

“Okay, who’s your favorite singer?” Ed asks without missing a beat.

“I can honestly say that my favorite singer is Birdie. Of course, I’m biased, and I know he doesn’t have the best voice in the world. Neither of us do, we’re very aware of it, but Hawk has a way of translating emotion into song that’s very powerful to me. We were recording a song, I think about five years ago, and it was a sad song, about feeling unloved.”

“My Cross To Bear,” Ed throws out there.

“Yeah, the title track. We didn’t have the whole song written yet, but he’d had this melody stuck in his head for so long he would just hum to it, and the things we were trying to find the words to say, which we felt were just out of our grasp, he could just hum to them and I would understand what he wanted to say.”

I keep listening for the whole hour but I can’t stop thinking about the way Wolf talked about his mom, his dad, and about Hawk. He sounds so damn happy.

So... liberated? I don’t know if that’s the right way to think about it, but maybe being out there by himself is what’s best for him.

In just less than two months he’s supposed to move here where he was haunted by his past?

Maybe that’s not what’s best for him. Maybe I’m not what’s best. Fuck, if that’s the case, then?—

Two sharp knocks sound on the door of my apartment and my heart gets lodged in my throat from the scare. I was so engrossed in my own head that I even stopped listening to the podcast.

“Coming!” I shout and scramble to pause the episode, then walk quickly to the door. It’s probably the doorman, he was supposed to bring Gracie some?—

“Hey, little rich boy.”