Page 76 of Wes

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Chapter 1 - Logan

Three Years ago

A never-ending hum seeped through the chaotic dreamland where I’d have rather remained. Heavy lids and heavier muscles refused to obey my brain cells as they urged them to move. When they finally obeyed, I groaned, stretching numb fingers with an effort, snagging on unknown obstacles, until they reached the softness of a pillow. Lying flat on my stomach, with eyes still shut, I lifted the feather-filled rectangle and placed it on top of my head. It covered my ears, as I’d intended. Sadly, it didn’t block out the annoying roar of the engines of the Boeing Dreamliner. As a consequence, it did little to lull me back to sleep.

Realizing it was a lost battle, I gave up. I forced myself to prop up on my forearms, before flipping over to sit up against the headboard. Leaning my head back, I moaned when the world around me spun out of control.

“Pretty sure the captain isn’t part of some air show squadron. More like downing too much tequila last night,” I muttered under my breath, wincing when my stomach plunged again at the thought.

Because closed eyes worsen dizziness, I dragged my eyelids up. When my eyes adjusted their focus, I chuckled at the sight of entangled limbs beside me. A mop of sandy hair sticking up whichever way covered Wes Baron’s face. A flash of memory from the previous night popped up in my mind. The drummer of Muse of Darkness and I met a couple of fans backstage after our concert in the outskirts of Amsterdam.

I rubbed the back of my neck, squinting. If only I could remember what else we did. More importantly, I had no idea if those giddy fans in Holland were the same two women now lying in bed with us.Fuck! What the hell did we do?

“Better dial down the booze, if I want to recall stuff,” I grunted, swinging my legs over the side of the crowded king-size bed, resting my forearms on my thighs.

My head hung down, chin got a hairsbreadth away from my naked chest. On second thought, did I really want to remember every fucking detail of every minute of each day? Icy, invisible fingers raced down my spine. Hell, no! What would be the point of drinking myself into a stupor? Better leave some things buried deep down in the dungeons of my mind. Allowing them to return to the surface had never done me any good.

I rubbed the back of my neck where an insidious pressure promised to become a blinding headache soon, if I didn’t do something about it.

Stretching my right leg, I pinched the pair of briefs from the floor using my toes and brought the underwear to my hand’s reach. As if in slow motion, I stuck both feet in their holes and pushed the briefs I wore yesterday up my legs and under my butt.

A new wave of nausea threatened to undo me, so I braced myself, digging my fingers into the side of the mattress. Queasy stomach and high heart rate didn’t make for a comfortable combination. So, I inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly until my lungs processed breathing without hitch.

With deliberate movements, I got to my feet and glanced around the room in search of the rest of my stuff. Telling apart clothes that belonged to four individuals in the partial darkness of the bedroom proved harder than I’d imagined. Not to mention the fact that we didn’t exactly fold our outfits and arranged them into neat piles last night.

It took me a couple of beats to spot the pair of jeans I wore yesterday. Now it hanged from a lamp on the top of a small desk beside the bed. I slid in my right leg, waited for the dizziness to subside before inserting the other. I hopped in place to close the zipper of the fucking skin-tight piece of clothing.

When I lifted my head, black spots clouded my vision, so I dropped my ass on a chair facing the desk, scratching the carpeted floor. One of the women stirred in her sleep, kicking the sheet away, and mumbling something in a foreign language. I believed she spoke in French. She could well have spoken Martian for all I knew. My synapsis barely processed simple sensations and basic emotions at that point. Language belonged to a much more sophisticated group of high brain functions I could not access at the moment.

The cowboy-style boots I’d toed off yesterday by the chair, remained there. I snatch them up and tucked them under my left arm. Standing up again, I staggered to the door, turned the knob, and opened it. Bumping off the walls of a narrow corridor, I stumbled down the passageway and reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper lounge.

I began climbing the steps like a human being, but switched to a creepy-crawly halfway up. Once I got the top, I straightened my back and grabbed the railing for support until I got my seas legs back. Meanwhile, I eyeballed the counter designed as a wave that ran along the wall on the left side of the airplane. Indirect purple lighting showcased an impressive variety of bottles and glasses. Kim, the band manager, always made sure that bar had the finest brands. Only the best for her favorite rock stars.

“I need a drink,” I murmured, lurching toward the nearest end of the counter and wrapping my fingers around its edge.

“I’d say you’ve had more than enough,” Erik Crawford reproached me.

Jumping out of my skin, I swirled to face the singer of our band, and longtime friend. He perched himself on one of the leather-covered seats spread around the lounge. His deep-set brown eyes held mine before he dropped them to the guitar on his lap and resumed plucking at the strings. I guessed he had nothing else to say to me.

I plopped myself on a tan chair across from him. While I put on the boots, he hummed a random melody, accompanying it with chords from the guitar, and ignored me.

I nudged his shin with the metallic tip of my boot. “That a new song? Sounds great.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot.”

“Carlotta?” I frowned.

He winced. “God, no. That young woman from Boston.”

I tilted my head, furrowing my eyebrows deeper. “Still? Thought you dreamed her up.”

“Me too, but since I cleaned up my act, the memories have increasingly become stronger. I don’t know. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. At least, she inspires me to write good music.”

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