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14
Weston
“It’ll only be a week,” Campbell said for the tenth time since we’d gotten on the plane back to LA.
“You don’t have to convince me. Convince your wife.”
Blaire had been less than pleased that we were already going back to LA after only being in Lubbock for such a short period of time. We were supposed to have a few months off. The band would be gone for a promotional tour and then an actual international tour for the new album. I didn’t quite know where I fit in for all of it, but I’d recorded the whole damn thing, so I wasn’t backing out now.
“It’s one more song,” Campbell grumbled.
We were headed straight to the studio to practice the new song with the rest of the band. I’d had to tell Nora this morning that I was heading out. She had known all along that I was going back to LA, but even I hadn’t expected it to be this soon. It had only been a couple days since I’d gotten her off in the living room. I should have said something about it. But fuck, what could I have said?
I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t fucking regret it. But if I was going to survive having her as my roommate, then I absolutely could not talk about it. Because talking about it would make it happen again.
I didn’t trust myself enough for it not to happen.
And if I didn’t want to end up with her bent over the kitchen counter with my cock buried inside of her, I needed to stay away. The real problem was that I did want that. I really wanted that.
When Campbell had mentioned flying into LA immediately to get this song out of his head, I’d practically jumped at the chance. Maybe some distance, however brief, would help.
Campbell sighed as he stared down at his phone. “I should have brought Blaire with me.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
“I mean…we’ve been trying…” He trailed off.
My eyebrows rose. “Fuck, man. Seriously?”
Campbell shot me a sheepish look. “Yeah. We want to get pregnant right away. I want a kid with her so bad, man. And well, she’s fertile this week. Like, what are the fucking chances?”
I shrugged. I wanted kids. I knew that unprotected sex got you children. But I hadn’t ever considered more than that. Definitely not fertility windows. “Why didn’t you bring her?”
“She said she had Blaire Blush stuff planned.”
Blaire was the owner of her own wellness blog. Over the holidays, she’d been on the Today show, talking about her advice column and wellness programs. She’d gone on a speaking tour for a few weeks after that, out there promoting her work. Her company had bloomed after her affiliation with Campbell, and we all loved to see how much success she had.
“Unfortunate. But fuck, I’m so happy for you, man. You’re trying to have a kid. That’s so adult of you.”
Campbell snorted. “Yeah. Sometimes, I think, what the hell do I know about being a parent? My childhood was just two adults constantly yelling at each other.”
“Yeah, but you’re not your parents. You and Blaire love each other. You’ll make great parents.”
He smiled down at his phone. “Thanks, West.”
I nodded at him. “It’s the truth.”
The car pulled up in front of the production studio headquarters, and we were ushered inside. Waiting for us outside of the studio was none other than the Cosmere manager, Bobby Rogers.
He held his arms out and smiled fondly at Campbell. “You’re back! Good to see you, kid.”
Campbell groaned. “Stop calling me kid, Bobby.”
Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “Always good to have the talent back in the building.”
“We can hear you,” Viv said. She appeared at his shoulder, rolling her big brown eyes. She brushed her bubblegum-pink hair out of her eyes and pulled Campbell into a hug and then me. “Hey, you.”
“Good to see you,” I told her. Viv was the bass player. Behind her was Santi, who played drums, and Yorke, on guitar.
“Just ignore him,” Santi said boisterously. He hit Campbell’s knuckles and then tipped his head at me. “We’re glad you’re home.”
Home. LA wasn’t home. I didn’t know what was home anymore. Seattle had always been home, but now, only Mom was there. It was strange to think that Lubbock had become home in such a short period of time.
“Yo,” Yorke said, as monosyllabic as Santi was animated.
“So, this new song,” Bobby said. He arched an eyebrow at the pair of us.
“Shut it, Bobby,” Campbell groaned. “Let me go play it for you.”
“We listened to the demo,” Santi said. “It needs a solid drumbeat.”
“Obviously.”
