Page 80 of Uncharted Desires
If only someone had invented a whiskey glass that never emptied. West looked over to the bottle that sat on his kitchen counter, cursing himself for not grabbing the bottle outright, but he hadn’t quite devolved into that much of a degenerate . . . yet. Over the past month, he had taken his status of functioning alcoholic to a whole new level. His liver was a shriveled mess, screaming at him. He had done such a good job when training, but now what was the point?
After disappointing Kat, he had to find a way to make it up to her and to himself because she was right. He didn’t really want to act. After years of being mad at his father for forcing him to do music, when he really thought about it, he hadn’t been doing it for his dad. West made music for himself. It took Kat to remind him of why he loved it, before all the fame, production, and world tours. He was ready to get back to basics.
Her words about changing the music industry from the inside, about starting his own label and being a voice for underrepresented artists rang in his mind. But he didn’t think he could do it without her. Right now, he was seconds away from hopping on a plane to get her. If he ever stopped seeing double.
He had literally shouted his love for her to the world and, while he had told her to leave, a part of him had hoped she’d turn around and run back to him. She was scared to be with him, scared of getting hurt, and perhaps she had a right to be, but she was also being unfair. He deserved to be trusted; he had done nothing to break her trust. Well, nothing in this decade. He had lied, yes, but his reasoning had been true. He didn’t want her to think so badly of him. To think that all he had cared about was whose pants he was getting into that night. Maybe ten, fifteen years ago that had been him, but that wasn’t him anymore.
So as hard as it was for him, West had to let her think on her own for now. He had bared everything to her, and she had still left. She’d made her decision, and West was going to have to live with it. For now.
His liver, on the other hand, was not thankful for that decision, and neither was his trainer, who’d come around early that morning, admonishing him for drinking too much.
He’d decided he was going to turn down the movie role but found his mind and body still thrived under a healthier lifestyle, so he kept his trainer around. He needed him, especially now, or he would never get off his couch.
The sound of the front door opening shook him from his ever-revolving thoughts. Since there were only two people who had the code, and his cleaning lady had already been by, he knew it had to be his father.
“Weston.” His dad’s voice reverberated through his vast house.
West had tucked himself in his back room which looked out at his pool, the large glass doors half open to the warm October air. His father’s footsteps grew closer and closer. He had no urge to talk to him. He had been avoiding him for the past month—avoiding everyone, really. His other buddies, who had taken off from Jakarta almost as soon as the yacht had docked, still couldn’t believe what Luke had done. While they of course believed West, they struggled to comprehend why he hadn’t just gone along with Luke and pinned it all on Declan.
Rich kids always stuck together, for wrong or for right.
His father walked into the room. “I should have known you’d be back here.”
“Hello to you too, Father.”
His father walked to his kitchen looking through his wine collection, pulling out one of his better reds. West winced at the thought of Kat and her preference for red wine. Everything reminded him of her. His dad poured himself a glass before sitting in one of West’s plush gray chairs.
“Are you against answering your phone?” His father gave him a pointed look.
“You clearly know where I live.”
“Do you always have to be such a smart-ass with me. It’s like you’re still fifteen.”
West sighed, running his hand through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and a bushy beard was starting to grow. He didn’t like to be baby-faced, but he did like to be well-groomed. Kat had tied him up in knots, and now he was unraveling faster than he could put himself back together.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve never given you enough credit for raising me by yourself.”
A gray eyebrow raised in question. “Interesting. And might this be the influence of one Katrina Brooks?
His heart ached just at the mention of her name. “Maybe a little, or a combination of that and surviving my best friend trying to murder me.”
“That boy was an idiot thirty years ago; you should have never wasted your time.”
“Maybe, but we had some pretty good times.” West smiled thinking about all the shenanigans they had gotten into over the years, and he mourned the loss of his friend in more ways than one.
His dad took a sip of wine. “I should never have indulged you two so much. I should have been around more or found you a stepmother.”
That got his attention; his father never spoke about his own love life, only complained about West’s. “Why didn’t you? You only ever said Mom left, but you never seemed to seriously date anyone.”
His dad looked away as if caught in a memory. “I loved your mom, loved her so much it hurt my soul.”
West could relate.
“But,” he continued, “when she got pregnant with you, she didn’t want you.” West felt the whiskey sloshing around in his stomach threatening to come back up. He had never realized his mother hadn’t wanted him. “I talked her into having you, told her I’d take care of her, she’d want for nothing, which was true. The band was at the peak of fame at that point.”
“Who was she?” West asked for the thousandth time.
“A singer. I won’t tell you who, she’s rather famous under a name different to the one on your birth certificate, and she swore me to secrecy. She’ll come around if she wants to.”