“Are you so tired you’re daydreaming?” he asks.
“Probably,” I respond.
He tilts his head toward the inside of the place, “Let’s fix you, Killion.”
When I follow him, I realize he’s wearing my old sweats. They still have a stain of black paint from when I used them to redecorate our old house’s music room. See, we have a few good memories of when we were together. I’ll tell my therapist during my next appointment.
We step into an old elevator. He pulls the bottom door first, then pulls a rope from the ceiling dragging the second door down. Once it’s all closed, he pushes the up button.
“It’s an art to ride this elevator,” I joke.
“You don’t like it,” he states.
I smile at him. “Actually, I was thinking this is fitting for you.”
“Yeah?”
“You like old things that have a history,” I say, as I look at the old elevator. “Quirky things that aren’t like many others.”
He smirks. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” I agree, feeling as if this is just the perfect place for him.
When we reach the second floor he says, “Welcome to Zeke’s casa.”
The aesthetic is different from what I expected. He has second-hand furniture, the kitchen is state of the art, and the bedroom is simple. Just a bed and a TV hangs that from a ceiling beam. I turn to look at him. “It reminds me of the apartment where we used to live.”
He nods. “I like open rooms. The only problem is that they don’t let me use my drums in here.”
After a second glance, I say, “Where is everyone?”
He looks around and shrugs. “They’ll be here between seven and eight.”
“I didn’t know,” I say, looking at my watch. It’s only six. “I didn’t mean to drop by so early.”
“It’s okay. As I said earlier, don’t make this weird.” He rubs the back of his neck. The hem of his t-shirt rides a little high, showing some skin and the ridge of his abs. I have to leave now, or I’ll be saying something stupid, like, “Would you like to fuck before they arrive?”
“Listen, I just want to make sure I respect your boundaries.”
“As long as you don’t text me at three in the morning for a booty call, drop by my house begging for sex, or tell me that you love me, but you can’t be with me, we’re cool,” he states.
“Those are pretty easy rules to follow.” I think. “How are you?”
He exhales harshly. “I don’t think you want to know.”
I sit on the barstool and watch him open the bags, placing the wings in containers and into the oven to keep them warm. He looks so grown up doing this. Maybe I’m just too tired. Instead of ogling him, I say, “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask.”
He finishes putting everything away and finally looks at me. “Are you sure you want me to unload it all on you?”
“Sure,” I answer the way he sometimes does.
“I almost fell off the wagon in a lot of ways. It started with wanting to fuck this chick I met at the library. The dry humping led me to want to shoot some heroin or at least a bottle of tequila. While my sponsor gave me an earful about my pathetic life, I almost took a detour to the place where my old dealer lives.” He stops and gives me a look. “I didn’t do it. I’ve been going to therapy every day since then. I changed sponsors, and I now have Nana and Alex checking on me every three minutes. How was your trip?”
“Not as eventful as your life. I’m tired. I was either working or traveling to the next location.” I shrug, stopping myself from asking him several questions. I start with something light. “Why did you change sponsors?”
“I realized I wasn’t comfortable enough to tell him that I was falling apart, and that’s a big problem. He didn’t know how to handle my issue. Apparently, I have a sex addiction too,” he states. “So, we have radio stations in Europe?”
I yawn. “Yes, among other continents.”
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks, going through his kitchen.
He pulls a mug out of a cupboard, a tin can from the pantry, and a kettle from under the sink.
I almost laugh. “You own a kettle?”
“I own shit you’ll never believe I bought,” he states. “That’s what happens when you live in a cabin with just water, electricity, and the basic appliances. I learned to live more organically.”
He waves at the kitchen. “There is no microwave in this place or a coffee maker. If I ever get a girlfriend or a boyfriend, they’ll have to drink percolated coffee or run to the coffee shop.”
“Percolated coffee?” I scrunch my nose. “That sounds disgusting.”
He shrugs. “They should stay with me for me, not the coffee. So, while the water is boiling, tell me why you had to overwork for two weeks.”
“I don’t like to travel much, so it seemed like a good idea at the time to cram in all those appointments to get them out of the way. I’ve been putting them off for several months.”
“You can say no to Alex. He doesn’t need snowboard buddies,” he jokes.
“I like to travel when the trips are for leisure.”
He nods a couple of times. “When you do it for work, you feel like you’re back with the band, don’t you?”
I grin. “You get it. I miss playing together, but not the rest.”
“I hated the rest and the constant change,” he complains. “Hence I was always looking for an escape to deal with my emotions. It was either drugs, alcohol, or sex.”
“You never liked change.” I agree, and yet, I feel responsible because I was part of the problem.
“I’m learning to accept it just like everything else in my life,” he states, resting his hands on the counter. “My therapist told me not long ago that brains fully develop at twenty-five. I didn’t want to believe him, but the more I look at our past, the more that makes sense.”
“Look at us, being adults.”
He smiles. “I doubt I’ll ever be a mature adult. I still like to do many things, like gaming, going to conventions, and joking around. If I could, I’d spend my weekends doing what I like, including playing with you guys. I’d be in nirvana. Plus, we might cut our traveling time in half.”
“We should do that,” I propose.
He looks around his studio. “Where? My landlord would kick me out the next day. Nana’s house has a cool music room, but there’s no place for my drums. How about you?”
I shake my head. “The snobs in my building wouldn’t allow it.”
His brows pull together in one line, “How? You live in a big ass house, don’t you?”
“Nah,” I answer. “I moved out of my place the summer while you were in rehab. The house where I lived was too pretentious. I moved to a penthouse close to the office.”
“Which is also pretentious as fuck.”
I laugh and nod in agreement.
“I don’t understand why you bought that house, though. It’s not you,” he sighs, and I’m happy that he’s not mentioning Lori.