My heart sinks, saddened by the fact I wasn’t able to talk to him and slightly concerned about how much he’s been drinking. I’ve seen how much alcohol Jimmy and Shane can down in a night; Jake doesn’t have anywhere near that tolerance. I’m tempted to text Max to check in on him, but I convince myself to let it go and trust that Jake can take care of himself.
Pushing my concerns aside, I focus back on finishing up a few more emails before calling it a day. Ignoring the knot in my stomach that has been steadily growing over the last two weeks.
Jolted awake by my ringing phone, I fumble around until my hand locates it on my nightstand. “Hello,” I say, half-asleep with no idea of who would be calling me at this hour. I glance at my clock to see it’s nearly 4 a.m.
“Kate,” Jake shouts over the blaring music. “What are you…doing?”
“Sleeping. It’s the middle of the night,” I respond, rubbing my eyes and sitting up in bed. “Are you okay?
“I’m great. We’re celebrating. You should be with us,” he replies, slurring his words. “Why aren’t…you here?”
Is he drunk?Again?
I sigh, resting my head on my hand. “We’ve already talked about this. I had to stay in Chicago for work.”
“Boooooooo!”
What in the actual fuck is happening?
“Who are you hanging out with?” I ask, hoping there’s a responsible adult somewhere in the mix, and he’s not being heavily influenced by Jimmy.
“Everybody…but you.”
A chorus of people chanting “shots, shots, shots” comes in the background.
“Give me two,” Jake mumbles, clearly not talking to me.
“We can?—”
The call ends abruptly.
He hung up on me. Did he mean to do that?
It has to be an accident.
I call him back, but the phone rings and rings. After waiting a few more minutes, I try again, but he never answers.
The unease I’ve been feeling grows, making me question whether this is how he usually behaves on tour when I’m not around. If this is how he’ll act once I start touring with him again. Wondering if we’ve been merely going through a honeymoon period, and now I’m seeing the reality of tour life.
Not going to go there.
I cocoon myself under my blankets, hoping to drift back to sleep, but it never happens.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
kate
Attemptingto relax this weekend has been utterly pointless, so I’ve thrown myself into work. It’s the only way to stop my mind from freaking out about why I haven’t heard from Jake in almost a day.
After Saturday morning’s drunken call, he’s been radio silent, only sending a single text about how he’d call me later and never did. Thinking about what could be going on with him only causes me to spiral, which is why I’ve been up since 5 a.m., working from the couch on a Sunday. It’s not my preferred way to start the day, but it’s helping to distract me from assuming the worst.
I’m so engrossed in the creative brief I’m writing that I don’t notice Chelsi come into the room until she’s sitting right beside me.
“How are you doing?” Chelsi asks with an odd look on her face. She’s decked out in her usual casual Sunday summer attire of yoga pants and a crop top.
I shrug. “Focusing on work. Hoping to hear from Jake at some point. I’ve given up on calling and texting since he hasn’t bothered to return any of the dozen messages I’ve left.” Theunease in my stomach increases after saying those words out loud, transporting me back to over fifteen years ago when he cut me out of his life without warning.
He wouldn’t do that again.
