Page 86 of Under the Ink

“My first tour, they were trying names out for me—likeSagebrush,Oregano,Jarhead. And I know it’s just a bonding thing they do, but it hit me right in the old childhood, you know? All those old shitty feelings just came bubbling to the surface—and that’s when I started partying way too hard.” And he might as well tell her the whole fucking truth. “And having lots of sex with groupies, trying all kinds of drugs. I was trying to drown that shit out, you know? Trying to numb it—but it was still there, festering, turning sour, because I’d never really dealt with it.”

They were quiet for a few moments until Naomi finally said, “So why’d you decide to try therapy?”

“Believe it or not, Johnny suggested it. And I’m not telling you anything he wouldn’t talk about himself when I tell you he was addicted to heroin.Isaddicted, he’d say—because he’s said if he ever hadjust a bumpone more time, he’d be hooked again, like nothing ever happened. So he said he’ll never do any drugs ever again. But he saw a therapist for a while to deal with his shit, so he recommended it to me. He said it was the smartest thing he’d ever done.”

“Seeing a therapist?”

“Yeah. He said there was a lot of old shit he hadn’t thought about in years, a lot of stuff having to do with his dad—and seeing someone helped him let go of a lot of things he hadn’t even known he’d been holding on to. My therapist explained it like this: you know when people have surgery and something gets left inside them, like a sponge or a scalpel?”

“That happens?”

“Yeah. Not a lot but it does. And when it happens, people get really sick, because they have a foreign object inside them that the body can’t get rid of. Like when you have a cold, your body fights off all that shit and you get it out by blowing your nose or whatever…but how the hell can your body get rid of a scalpel stuck inside your chest or something? It can’t—so it festers and you get super sick and maybe even die if they can’t figure out and fix what happened.

“She said trauma is just like that.You’ll never feel well if you don’t deal with it.And that’s what therapy is all about—getting the fucking mental scalpel out of your soul.”

“Huh.” Naomi looked almost incredulous—but he could tell she was giving it serious thought.

“She taught me techniques to deal with everyday stuff. Like when the guys tried throwing other nicknames at me, I’d just take long, slow breaths in and out to the count of ten, and it kind of helped me to think logically about it instead of falling back on all those old shitty emotions. And I wouldn’t have even known it worked or been able to identify it going on if not for her.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Don’t get me wrong. If I was smart, I’d still be seeing her on a regular basis—‘cause I still manage to inflict a lot of self-sabotage on myself. But I’d be way worse off if not for her.”

Naomi nodded again, and Sage hoped she was giving it some serious thought. He’d never know for sure unless she took his advice and told him so. “I’m getting sleepy again,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Would you mind staying here with me?”

The door was open and the lamp was on—so his parents would have to know it was all kosher if they happened to walk past and wonder what the fuck was going on.

And Naomi needed him…and that trumped anything else.

“I’d love to.”

Because he loved her. He now knew this all the way to the depths of his soul…and he’d doanythingfor this woman.

WINCHESTER, COLORADO

JULY 19

Ever since she’d awakened in Sage’s arms, Naomi had been thinking about what he’d said the night before…about how maybe therapy would benefit her. But she didn’t know that it would. A long time ago, she’d fantasized about a bunch of those people from her past dying—starting with Jacob and ending with Mrs. Rodenbeck—and, for a while, it had helped her feel better.

But that feeling hadn’t lasted.

Maybe she’d think about therapy at some point. Right now, though, she’d found that having good friends was the best thing of all. She wouldn’t have survived what Jacob did to her had it not been for Ginny’s love and support, a source of strength and comfort to her when she felt weak. And Sage had become that same sort of person for her when Ginny couldn’t be there.

Friends made all the difference.

And now that she was making plans to leave Winchester for good, life was looking better and better.

Sage was driving the car through the mountainous terrain, just minutes from the west end of her hometown. Their destination was the rendezvous point for the band members and crew in Colorado Springs. Some of them had stayed there for their days off, enjoying all the city and the Broadmoor had to offer—but, despite the discomfort of being around Sage’s family and her nightmares last night, she wouldn’t have traded going with him to Chipeta Springs for anything.

Best of all, during the first half of the tour, she’d found a lot of nice places where she wouldn’t mind settling down; honestly, though,anywherewould have been preferable to Winchester.

“Have you ever heard this one before?” Sage asked.

“No.”

On the drive back, Sage had been filling the car with the sounds of a playlist of his favorite songs—and giving commentaries one each one. Some songs Naomi knew of—after all, she hadn’t grown up under a rock—but many were brand new to her, including the one that Sage was asking about.

“It’s not the prettiest song, but that’s the point.”

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