Page 28 of In the Stars

I smile at them, feeling lighter. “I’ll be out of here in a few weeks. Don’t look so grim. Y’all come visit me if you want some downtime.”

With a frown, Mitch says, “Visit you? You’re not staying in LA?”

“Nah. LA was where I did most of my dirt, and I was a frequent flier at all the drug spots. I’m not strong enough right now to avoid them. If I go to LA the day after I get out, I’d get high as a kite and be right back here.”

“Where are you going?” Kas asks.

“Back to Washington. I have some unfinished business.”

TWELVE

JAXON

While I’m doomscrollingon social media before my next teleconference, I see something that makes my heart stop. The headline of the news article says,“One of the world’s largest rock bands, Lana’s Mischief, on year-long hiatus.”

Hiatus? What does that mean? Is that another word to say the label is replacing Wesley because he had to go to rehab? I’ve heard about predatory labels dropping someone without their knowledge, leaving them in the lurch.

Fuck, how can I check on him?

I pick up the phone on my desk, ready to call my dad, but my hand freezes.

Wesley made it clear that he didn’t want to hear from me anymore. The last time I saw him, I told him his mother was dead for fuck’s sake. I’m sure he’d rather not talk to me when he’s at his lowest, once again.

With a long sigh, I put the phone back in the cradle. It’s stupid. I need to learn my place and leave him alone like he told me to.

My stomach roils as I try to get through my day, pushingaside thoughts of Wesley as I conduct meeting after meeting.

By the end of the day, I’m worn out. I lean back in my desk chair and close my eyes, wanting to go home, but I still have so much to do that I know it’s impossible.

After a few more minutes of resting my eyes, I wake up my computer and get started on composing some briefings for court in the next few days. Luckily, they’re simple divorce proceedings that are uncontested, so they shouldn’t be too much strain.

My cell vibrates on my desk, dancing across its surface before I scoop it up and look at the screen. I frown when Evan’s name pops up. It’s been more than six months since I’ve heard from him. After we broke up and he bought me out of the condo we lived in, we never had anything else to discuss.

I would rather not answer, but Evan is persistent—if he wants to talk, he’ll just keep calling until I answer the phone.

“Hey, Evan,” I answer without pretense.

“Jaxon. Hello. How are things?”

“They’re fine,” I answer with a sigh. “What can I do for you?”

“I…just wanted to see how you were.”

I sigh, feeling a headache pound behind my eyes. “Why?”

He lets out a nervous chuckle. “You know…I got married recently.”

My stomach drops, but I push past it. I heard from one of our mutual friends that he was dating a receptionist at our firm—Evan and I were hired by the same firm right out of law school—and they were expecting to be married soon. I didn’t know it happened already.

“I wasn’t aware,” I say, glad my voice sounds normal. “Congratulations. What can I do for you, Evan?”

“Jaxon…I miss you. I made the wrong decision, not fighting for you.”

This happens every few months. Evan calls and asks me to come back, and I tell him no. He says he wishes me the best and won’t contact me again. Then he calls and asks me to return to Seattle. On and on it goes.

To be honest, I’m sick of it. I’m over Evan and his indecisiveness.

When I told him I was feeling the pressure a little too much at our firm, he said buck up and fake it until I made it. He was into the fast pace, the high-profile cases, the long hours and stress. I hated every second of it. He didn’t listen to my concerns or care when I said I didn’t want to work somewhere I was unhappy.

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