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Brit leaned back in her chair, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest. “I honestly have no idea where this is going. But Axel, based on what you just told me, I have to say I’m not sure this is a good idea. It sounds like a recipe for backsliding.”
I sighed, tugging my hood off and running my hand through my hair. It was all in the open now. I had a final, brief moment of doubt—Is this a bad idea?—as I turned toward her.
Brit had changed in the past few months. It was subtle, but it was there. She had highlighted her hair, and it fell in soft, styled waves past her shoulders. She’d started wearing makeup when we went out. She’d bought some clothes, including a pair of jeans that hugged her ass in ways that gave me absolutely filthy thoughts. She’d kept up with her therapy, and her confidence was slowly rebuilding.
The Brit I’d met last fall had been shell-shocked, a shadow of a more vibrant woman. This Brit—who I suspected was partly a new version, but partly had existed all along—still had an introverted side and a black sense of humor, but she was witty and she didn’t take any shit. She was starting to know her worth. Oh, and she was stupidly sexy. Like—fuck, it was hard to look at her sometimes. Like now.
“Here’s the thing,” I said to her. “I said no to the PR guy, but having someone help with my sobriety on the tour isn’t a bad idea. It’s just better if I pick the person. And if you’re willing to take the job, I pick you.”
Her lips parted and her mouth actually opened in shock. She seemed unable to form a sentence. “I—what? You want what?”
“I want you to come on tour with me. I’ve negotiated it into the deal. I get a sobriety companion of my choosing, all expenses paid. You travel with us and stay at the same hotels we do, and you make sure I don’t fuck up. The pay is very good.”
“Pay?” Brit seemed dazed. She hadn’t expected this. “There’s pay?”
“Of course there’s pay.”
“Your backer agreed to that?”
“He either agrees or there’s no tour.” I shrugged.
“Wait a minute.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, as if that would make her process the information faster. “How long is this tour?”
“Ten weeks, coast to coast.”
“Ten weeks?You want me to go on a rock n’ roll tour for ten weeks?”
“We start here in Portland and make our way across the country by bus. We end up in New York, and then we take a flight back here to Portland for the final show. You’ll see tons of places across the country.” I paused. “Except for Texas. The Road Kings got kicked out of Texas.”
“Axel, I’m not a therapist or any kind of qualified person. How am I supposed to keep you sober?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “How do you do it now? Because you do.”
“I donotkeep you sober.”
“Actually, you do.” It was the truth. I’d realized it only recently, when the idea for the tour came up. I didn’t need Stone to take me to the movies anymore, though I still talked to him regularly. I didn’t need as many meetings or as many late-night drum sessions to keep the thoughts at bay. I didn’t need meaningless sex to stay sober, and I hadn’t had a hookup partner since I’d cut ties with the last two.
I played Scrabble with Brit. I saw her at the coffee shop. We talked and texted. We went to folk festivals.
She’d said, that day that she met me after my run, that she needed me to be her friend. And it turned out I needed her, too.
When I asked myself how I could get through ten weeks of temptation, the answer was Brit. I could get through it if I had Brit. I knew I could.
She was shaking her head. “Axel, this is crazy. I can’t just take off for ten weeks. What about Aunt Ellen?”
“She’ll miss you,” I said, which was true. Ellen had grown very attached to Brit, just like I had. “But she’ll understand when you tell her you’ll be coming home with twenty thousand dollars.”
“Twenty thousanddollars?” She was shocked again.
“Two thousand a week.” I scratched my chin. “Actually, I think there should be a bonus, too. I just decided. Our backer has the money. I’m negotiating that in.”
Brit was cycling through her objections now, which at least meant she was considering it. “What about The Corner?”
I nodded. “We’ll have to break it to Grant. He’ll be conflicted. He desperately wants the Road Kings to reunite, but because of what he went through with his sister, he’ll worry about me. If he knows you’re looking after me, he’ll feel better about it. Your job will be waiting for you when you get back, of course. That’s the upside of being the boss.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this,” she said.
Oh, I had. I’d barely slept last night, thinking about it. I wanted to tour so fucking bad—so fucking bad—but I didn’t want to relapse, and I didn’t want to leave Brit. I wasn’t going to tell her that part, but ten weeks away from her had been a big drawback. I liked her too much.
