Page 165 of The Comedown

“Are you mad at me?” I ask through a wince awaiting his answer. With my head clearing up, I’m remembering more. The things I said to him on the beach. The look on his face when he found me on his bus.

Julian snaps out of his reverie, glancing over at me. After giving me a thorough once-over, he says, “Nah. Not you, Poohbear. Basically everybody but you.”

I laugh a sad, sympathetic sound, then apologize right back, for everything, even the stuff I’m not responsible for. I’m so sorry for what he’s been put through, what we’ve both been put through. We’re both survivors attempting to navigate swell after swell without the help of, or the detriment of, anyone else. Surviving by ourselves is the only way we know how but sharing our struggles with each other has helped lighten the load. At least for me. Just having Julian know, and believe me, gives me courage, gives me strength.

“Do you really think this is just a tour-mance?”

The desperation in both his voice and his eyes put a knot in my stomach because nothing I say will be able to ease it for him. I’m dealing with the same exact feeling. What is this? What are we?

“I don’t know, Julian. I don’t know.” As much as I hope it’s not just a tour-mance, I don’t see how it can be more. My next tour is already lined up after this one. I won’t have this kind of time or energy to give him, to give us. That’s just me. He hasn’t even shared what his plans are.

“So, what now?”

He pulls out his phone, telling me vaguely, “I got a couple things in mind.”

While he’s busy texting, I take out my credit card, but without looking away from his phone, Julian snatches it one-handed and pockets the card in his own pants before removing a wad of cash to place on the table.

“My treat,” is all he says, still focused on his phone. A few moments later, he’s helping me out of the booth, asking, “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually. You?”

He smirks, saying, “Almost.”

Standing just down the street from the hotel the rest of my team’s staying in, I take in the two buses towering before us.

What are we doing here?

Julian’s bus is still teeming with partiers, but thankfully he’s not leading us over to it. Instead, we’re just hanging out next to the black Escalade Julian hired to drive us around…waiting? For something? Julian won’t say.

The door to his bus opens, and three guys practically stumble down the stairs before rushing over to get selfies with Julian. With a tight jaw and hard eyes, he poses like he usually does, then nods them away from us, settling into a casual stance of leaning against the SUV beside me.

“Why a gun?” I ask him when we’re alone again.

“Why a gun what?”

“Why do you pose with your fingers in a gun?”

“’Cause I was told to, fuck if I know why. You got something against guns?” he teases. “You got at least one knife stashed in every outfit you wear.”

“Knives are easier for me to justify. Guns ruin people on both ends, while knives only ruin one.”

His head turns toward mine, so I add, “Or at least I tried to ruin one.” A hideous scar did nothing to hinder Jack’s life.

“He’ll get his,” Julian promises, but I shake my head, thinking, no, he won’t.

Angling his body to face me, Julian says, “I’ve been thinking.”

I mirror him, asking, “About?”

“About those photos Bodee has.”

“What about them?”

“We could say we were just acting for a music video.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Won’t everyone figure out that’s a lie when we don’t actually produce one?”

“We could. We will.”