A short and sweet treat for my readers. Happy Friday!
Leed
I've never considered myself a coward.
The Utopian summer I was fifteen and Mac wasn't quite twelve, I found her crying in the bathroom one night, while our mom was off the commune delivering a baby. Mac was freaking outâit took me a long time to get any sense out of her. Eventually I figured out she had started her period and she had no idea what was going on, because no one had bothered to explain the facts of life. I guess at eleven she was a little on the young side, or maybe my mom just assumed in a world with internet, that Mac was savvy. The stepmother-du-jour probably assumed my mom was doing her job. Nobody had given Mac a head's up.
So it was up to me, like usual, to look after Macaroni. I had no qualms about folding down on the bathroom floor beside her and telling her what she needed to know. Then I went around to the neighbor's and borrowed some pads for her.
The night Angelo Moran sat in the back of the grungy HandleBar, I wasn't a coward then, either. I knew it might be our last shot. A bunch of other labels had passed on us, saying our sound was great, but that I just wasn't "unique" enough as a frontman.
So that night, I stopped trying to be Eddie Vedderâeven though that's what I sound like and what I looked like back then, all big-boned and super long-haired and flannel. I went with my instincts and summoned the unique giants of the generations. I took my shirt off and oozed sex like del Marco, but showed my inner Cobainâyelping and growling and bleeding song like that misfit kid that still lives inside me. I tied it together like Bowieâmaking it my stage, my storyâmy theater. Trace nearly had a stroke at my sudden command of his ship, but it fucking worked. I found myself as a performer that night. Found the magic that grips the crowd, makes them listen.
When Soundcrush took the stage in our first arena show, I wasn't the slightest bit nervous then, either. Once you find what I found that night at the HandleBar, it doesn't matter if your audience is fifty drunks in a dive bar or forty thousand people that paid to see you. You know the magic is yours to make for them.
Not even finding Mac being choked or experiencing Ollie's birth made me fear. They made me feel and made me reactâon opposites ends of the spectrum- but they didn't make me fear.
I'm almost always buoyed by the belief that I can handle my shit.
No, I'm not a coward. But as this private jet accelerates down the runway and lifts us skyward, and I know we are leaving the US and Ashlynn's newly re-established routine behind yet again, I'm scared shitless.
Ashlynn has been headache free for nearly ten days now, but what if this is a mistake? What if her headaches come back while we are living in a tree house? What if she has a seizure in the middle of the rainforest? I wanted to delay this trip, but we both knew delay was just a code word for "cancel."
We nearly had our first fight over this. It felt like a fight anyway. There was no anger, but it was the first time we've been on opposite sides of an issue and unwilling to budge.
Ashlynn insisted she's okay, and that there is no reason to believe her health isn't back on track like it's been for nine months. She wouldn't hear about bringing along West, either, which I thought was a good idea. Not because I'm worried about our safety in Costa Rica, but because I wanted someone I could trust if she fell sick and I needed back up. But she said a romantic trip in a tree house would be ruined by a bodyguard.
Over and over, we said the same things. She said travel was one of my dreams and that this is too important to cancel. Over and over I told her I'm scared of her headaches coming back from the stress of travel.
Finally, she used my own argument against me. She said it was my turn to be the hero and slay my fears, and take her to Costa Rica because she's had a shit few years and she deserves a vacation.
And how could I argue with that?
So we're on our way, but so far, I feel more like the Cowardly Lion than Richard the Lion-Hearted.
She knows it, too, from the way I'm gripping her hand.
When the fasten seatbelt sign goes off, Ashlynn pries her hand from mine and crosses the cabin. I'm momentarily distracted at how cute she looks in comfy grey joggers, a tucked-in striped t-shirt, and gold sandals and jewelry that sparkle against her glowing tan skin. Her hair is loose and wavy and parted down the middle as she tucks it behind her ears and surveys the bar cart.
I have no idea how my girl looks like a boho goddess in what most girls would consider pajamas. She wears everything well, because she wears it with a warm smile and a happy outlook.
She delivers one of those life-giving grins to me as she waves off the attendant pushes the bar cart over to me, biting her lip and pretending to look shy.
"You look like you could use a drink, Mr. Lawson. What will you have?" she bats her eyes. I get it...she's playing the hostess.
She picks up a bottle of tequila for me to inspect.
I grin at her playfulness and flirt back like a rock star. I run a hand through my hair and kick a booted foot up on knee, tapping out a rhythym like Bodie always does on a flight. "Nah, Sweetheart. I'm not about that, this trip."
For sure, I'm definitely staying sober, right along with Ashlynn, when we travel. I'm not pushing our luck by asking for any trouble. What if I got drunk and missed the signs that she was falling ill? Or god forbid, what if I had trouble with my blood sugar because I drank too much and she ended up stressed by having to take care of me?
"A sober vacation?" She pretends to look confused. "That doesn't sound like the rock star life, Mr. Lawson."
"Let's just say I'm inspired to live the pure life lately."
"Oh? Inspired by what?"
"The love of a good girl," I respond automatically.
She blinks and licks her lips, looking around the cabin dramatically. Then she leans forward, giving me a view down the v-neck of her t-shirt. "Well, I don't see any good girls here." Then she straightens and busies herself with putting ice cubes in an acrylic tumbler. "Kombucha or sparkling water?"
My good girl is really a devil when she wants to be. But I'm happy to keep playing along.
"Whatever you're having, doll. You're gonna keep me company on this flight, right?" I wink at her and give her the chin tip. I see her blue eyes fire a little at that but she ducks her head demurely, still playing her role.
She pours two sparkling waters and puts them on little napkins on the table in front of our captains seats. "And can I get you a snack to go with that?" she floats a graceful hand over the crudites. "Or I believe there's some sushimi in the cooler."
I pat my knees. "I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it, darlin'." I reach up and wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling her down into my lap. "How 'bout I just take a bite out of you, huh?" I gnaw lightly on her collarbone.
She reaches forward for the sparkling water, and takes a sip. "Why, Mr. Lawson, are you propositioning me? This is not how we do things in the flight industry. What will the captain say?" she whispers in mock horror.
"He'll say I'm a very lucky man," I assure her, finishing the water, then fitting my mouth to hers. I was only kidding at first, playing the rock star to her flight attendant, but kissing her heats things up. Every time I put my hands on this woman, I lose all control. The feel of her warmth makes me instantly want to be skin on skin with her.
"Mmmm..."I roll the vibration into her mouth, then whisper in her ear. "I don't want to make believe. I want to get very real. We're already halfway to heaven, Sunny...let me take you all the way."
She giggles. "But the actual flight attendant..."
"She's a pro...she'll just ignore us."
I'm gripping her waist, massaging her lower back like she loves, and I can tell by the way her spine is relaxing that she's becoming putty in my hands. I grin as we kiss. Getting lucky at 35,000 feet is always a good day.
"C'mon, baby. Let's go." I prompt again, and she rises smoothly, straightening her t-shirt. As I lead her to the small compartment at the back of the plane, I thank the Universe I sprang for the private jet with the bed. I honestly didn't think it would be this easy to talk her into the Mile High Club. She's crazy for our love, but big on privacy. There's no way around it, the flight attendant is going to be ten feet away while I fuck her.
"The cabin's all yours..." I reach for the name the flight attendant introduced herself with. I never used to have trouble remembering a beautiful woman's name, but since Ashlynn came into my life, they are all the same. Not her. "...Amanda," I finally manage, and I wink to cover my faux pas. She smiles back and slides in her Air Pods as she claims a seat.
I laugh at Ashlynn who is already on her hands and knees on the bed, busy closing the shades on the portals. I crawl beside her re-opening then. "You're are the cutest freak, Sunshine. There's no one out there, and the whole point is to know...you're making it on top of the world."
"Oh, right," she says a little nervously as she fiddles with a nail That's when I realize...she's doing this for me. She's working around her privacy hang-up because she thinks this little sky-high sexing will easy my worries.
God, I love this woman. I never knew this is what love was likeâendless waves, sometimes giving, sometimes receiving, a slow mixing of wills and desires until it doesn't matter anymore who wants what because we want the best for each other.
Any thought I had of a round of rowdy rock star sex is suddenly gone. I want to show her my love, not show off.
"C'mere," I say softly and I tuck her under the covers, under me. Every time I get her on her back beneath me, I'm amazed. She looks so...innocent. All worry teased away, full of trust, excited.
Most of the time Ashlynn seems a lot older than her twenty-two years, but in bed she always looks like...like a princess bride on her wedding night. I get this weird feeling that she'll always look the same to me in bed, even if I'm loving her like this a long time from now.
I kiss her long and lazily, and we make love like magic. Somehow our clothes seem to disappear without effort, and our bodies slowly melt together until we are in that sublime place of oppositesâwild yet slow, drunk but sharply aware. Completely full of feeling, yet empty of everything but each other. As heavy and as light as the clouds themselves.
A long time later, we're both calm and content. I'm on my back, looking alternately out the window and at her. She's stroking my chest, her eyes roaming like she's memorizing me. "Feel better?" she asks.
"I always feel amazing when I'm with you," I'm slowly scrubbing my calloused fingertips up her arm, turning my hand over and smoothing my way down. "But up here...it's a whole different perspective, you know? This is a wild ride, baby. Not many people live like this. It's rare, to be as blessed as I am. And none of it compares to what I've found in you," I roll toward her, pulling her close, smelling light and meadows as I kiss her hair. "Maybe Adam has the right idea after all, you know? Maybe there's a God I should be thanking for the path that's led to you."
Her peal of laughter surprises me.
"Why you laughin' at me, girl?" I nip her ear.
"I'm not...it's beautiful what you said...and wonderful the gratitude you feel...but it's also funny..." she's having trouble getting her point across, between my assault on her throat and her giggles. "It's really funny...that the Mile High Club is a religious experience for you..."
"It wasn't a religious experience for you?" I murmur. "Well fuck, I can do better..." I slide between her legs again.
I hope what's-her-name still had her earphones in, because she definitely needed them during Round Two.
YAY! It only took three books but we finally had a first person Mile High Scene! No explicit cut here...it really was a religious experience for Leed so we'll leave it "pure."