Page 43 of In the Stars

A few moments later,my phone vibrates in the cupholder. I scoop it up and read his message.

Jax: That sounds like fun. Excited?

I shootoff a text before I start up my car andbegin my drive.

Me: Yeah, and a little nervous.

My phone ringsthrough my Bluetooth, and I answer it as I turn onto the interstate. “Hey,” I say to Jaxon.

“Hey. You okay?”

Any other time, if someone insisted on asking if I was okay all the time, I’d lose my shit. But Jaxon isn’t asking because he thinks I need someone to constantly check in—he really cares about the answer.

“Yeah. Just…I’m not who they thought I was all the years we’ve known each other. I’m sure every interaction they had with me, besides when they saw me in rehab, was when I was on something. I’m nervous because they might not like who I really am.”

“You haven’t changed that much.” I can imagine his lopsided grin, which makes me chuckle. “I think they know who you are, Wes.” He pauses, and I can almost hear him gearing up to ask something. “Do you want me to come? I can…sit with you for support.”

As much as I would love that—I love any time spent with Jaxon—I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No. I have to do this alone. I have to see if they’re really my friends or if we only hung out because of the band.”

“They’re your friends, Wesley. Don’t doubt that.”

I chuckle. “You don’t know them.”

“Don’t need to. I know you. And you’re a good person. The drugs didn’t change that. Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe, okay?”

“Okay,” I croak, choked up from his words.

The drugs and booze had such a hold on me I don’t know who I am. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been tryingto learn myself without the drugs and without music. I’ve learned that I love to exercise and fucking yoga. Before rehab, I never would have attempted it, but I find myself doing yoga every morning after I wake up.

I also learned I like writing poetry. It’s almost like writing songs, but I don’t have a string of melodies floating in my mind. Most of what I write is morbid as fuck, but it really speaks to me and gets all the negative thoughts out.

We hang up, and I try to pass the time humming Lana’s Melody. There’s something about it that nags at the back of my mind, but I can’t put a finger on it. It’s a soothing song, calming the frayed edges of my nerves. I can see why Jaxon says it made him feel better after Lana died. The tune is calming.

An hour later, I pull up to the Plymouth Hotel. Kas and Mitch texted and said they’d be in the restaurant downstairs. There’s a bar inside, so I asked if we could go elsewhere to eat. I think I’m strong enough to resist, but I don’t want to tempt myself. I associate Mitch and Kas with a fast lifestyle, and I don’t want to fall back into old habits.

Shortly after I step into the lobby, I text Mitch that I’m there. I pull my hoodie tighter over my head and adjust my glasses. It’s a shitty disguise, but it’ll help. I keep my head down so no one walking in or out will notice me immediately.

I hear footsteps from my left and look up seeing my two best friends walking toward me. A wide grin stretches my face, and a soft exhale leaves my lips. I’ve really missed them.

They both stop in front of me, mirroring my expression. I feel like shit that I haven’t been as open with them. I barely allowed them to touch me unless I knew it was coming. There’s nothing I can do about that—Mirrie toldme I will probably never want unsolicited touch, and that’s okay.

Since they look so unsure, I make the first move, opening my arms. Mitch launches himself at me and pulls me off my feet. A surprised chuckle bursts from my lips as I pat his back. Kas is gentler, giving me a one-armed hug.

Mitch steps back and eyes me, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. “It’s good to see you. You look great, man. All healthy and shit.”

I duck my head, my cheeks heating. “Thanks. I guess that’s what happens when I start eating in the morning instead of having vodka for breakfast.”

They glance at each other nervously, as if they don’t know if they should laugh or not.

“Sorry,” I say nervously. “I shouldn’t joke about it.”

Kas shakes his head. “No, it’s cool. We don’t want you to feel bad by poking fun at your addiction.”

“We want you to stay clean,” Mitch says, subdued. I’ve never heard that tone from him, so I know he’s serious.

A lightness settles in my chest. Like Jaxon said, they really are my friends. The drugs may have clouded my interactions with them, but that doesn’t mean they no longer care about me.

Feeling better about our day out, I say, “Let’s get some food. Y’all can tell me what’s been going on in your lives.”

---